WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU
by AMK8
Summary: It's been five years since Miss Parker left the Centre, but now past mistakes have come back to threaten her present happiness. Can she find a way to work with old friends and foes alike to secure a brighter future... or any future at all? This is the sequel to WHAT PRICE FREEDOM.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

Stand a little taller

Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone"

from Kelly Clarkson's_ What Doesn't Kill You_

* * *

Miss Parker faced her reflection with the usual mixed feelings.

She knew a beautiful woman would look back at her, a woman who'd figured out long ago how to use that beauty to her advantage. With eyes that could flash blue fire or shimmer like a lake in summer, a smile that could switch from disarming to predatory, and long legs that could distract or deal a painful blow in combat, she knew exactly how to use her best attributes to gain control in any situation.

That was a lesson the other woman in the mirror had never learned.

For as long as she could remember, Miss Parker had been told she looked just like her mother. That fact had offered little consolation to the young girl who'd suddenly and tragically lost her mother. As an adult, though, she'd come to cherish the resemblance, knowing that in her loneliest moments, she had only to glance in a mirror to feel like her mother was still with her.

Especially this mirror. This dressing table was the only thing she'd brought with her from Blue Cove when she'd left five years ago, walking away from everything else – her job, her house, her father. At that turning point in her life she'd also come to the painful realization that she no longer wanted to be like her mother, a woman she'd come to view as weak. Still, she couldn't let go of the one object that was her strongest connection to the distant past that held her best memories of her mother. How many times had she happily perched on this padded bench for some girl talk, trying on jewelry or trying out new hairdos while sharing hopes, dreams, and secrets?

But not all of the secrets. A shadow crossed Miss Parker's face, eerily similar to the flickers of sadness that would often mar her mother's lovely features. As a child, she hadn't seen – or hadn't wanted to see – that pain. It wasn't until she was an adult that she'd finally discovered how dangerous Catherine Parker's life had been. And just how much she'd risked to shield her daughter from those dangers. Now that she had a child of her own, Miss Parker understood that fierce need to protect.

"You look pretty, Mommy."

She'd said those same words on many occasions, but this wasn't some childhood memory brought to life by the looking glass. This compliment came from her own daughter, Katie, as she skipped into the bedroom.

Miss Parker smiled at the girl in the mirror. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Katie came to a stop beside her and addressed their reflections. "Are you going to a party?"

Another echo from the past. How many times had she watched her mother sit at this very dressing table to get ready for a night out with her father? The young Miss Parker had thought her mother a true artist the way she'd handled the blush and mascara brushes. But how many times had she used that skill to cover bruises she'd chosen to hide from the world?

"Mommy?"

Miss Parker returned to the present and considered Katie's question. Why did she think she was going to a party? Unlike her mother had done on so many of those nights out, she hadn't swept her dark brown hair up in some elaborate style; it fell in its usual waves from her forehead to her shoulders. She wore a simple black dress with no jewelry. "Not a party, just dinner," she said, adding, "For work," before her daughter could invite herself along with hopes of a meal at her favorite eatery in town, The Crab Shack.

The little girl's brow furrowed slightly. "But you work _here_."

"Well, yes, I usually do most of my work over the phone or computer, but the man I need to interview happens to be in town, so I thought it would be good to meet with him in person and ask him questions to see if he'd be a good person for the job being offered by my company." Miss Parker had learned to offer more information than was necessary in the hopes of fending off an endless string of follow-up questions. It usually worked, especially if her answer was sufficiently boring.

Seems like her long response had done the trick. Katie shrugged and turned to leave.

Noticing an errant strand of hair escaping from one of her daughter's pigtails, Miss Parker reached out to stop her. "Wait a minute, let me fix your braid."

Katie let out an exasperated puff of air that fluttered her bangs but obediently stood still.

Stifling a sigh of her own, Miss Parker set to the task of redoing the braid. From experience, she knew to work fast, but the child had already started to fidget, shifting her weight from one lavender sneaker to the other, before she was done. "Come on, Katie, you want to look nice for Ben, don't you?"

"Grandpa Ben's coming?" This exciting bit of news just made her squirm more, as if she needed to rush to the door to greet him this very instant.

Miss Parker quickly finished with an efficient twist of the shiny purple bauble to hold the silky hair in place. "He'll be here in a little while. Just enough time for you to clean your room."

The girl's shoulders drooped at the thought, but she was off like a flash when the Skype ringtone sounded from the next room.

"Katie, wait!" Miss Parker hurried after her. How many times did she have to tell her not to answer calls on her work computer? Hardly professional to have a four-year-old child – no matter how advanced for her age – chatting with clients. She wondered if Sean, her dinner companion for tonight, was calling to cancel, and she felt an unexpected pang of disappointment at the thought.

But it was a co-worker from the past, not the future, whose voice she heard as she entered the spare bedroom she'd turned into her home office. "Hey, kiddo, how's it going?"

"Hi, Uncle Boots!"

Miss Parker inwardly cringed at the babyish nickname that Katie still used for Broots; she suffered from none of the speech impediments common to other children her age.

Katie sent a delighted grin her mother's way, showing a hint of the dimples she'd inherited from both her parents, before swiveling back in the computer chair to address the man on the screen. "Doesn't Mommy look pretty?"

An uncomfortable silence followed her daughter's innocent question. As she walked closer to the webcam, Miss Parker could tell Broots was checking her out while trying to appear that he was doing anything but that. She kept her eyes locked on his, silently daring him to let his gaze wander from her face. "Um," he said finally, blinking rapidly and tugging at the collar of his green polo shirt, "y-yes, v-very p-pretty."

Thank goodness Katie was used to Broots' stammer-speak; she didn't want her highly intuitive daughter to figure out that "Uncle Boots" carried a torch for her mother. At best, Miss Parker felt a sisterly affection for the computer geek, but Broots couldn't seem to understand that their relationship would always remain platonic. She'd come to realize she'd never been able to completely extinguish his attraction to her; it was like trying to blow out those damn trick birthday candles that kept flaring to life.

"Thank you, Broots." She hoped he realized this gracious response was for her daughter's benefit – as a demonstration of good manners – and _not_ encouragement for regular compliments on her appearance.

"Uncle Boots, have you rescued the princess yet?"

For once, Miss Parker was thankful for Katie's habit of abruptly changing the subject.

"Are you kidding? I can't even get past the guards on level three." No stutter in that response; Broots was obviously eager to continue this new topic of conversation.

"Oh, that's easy! All you have to do is -"

"Sorry, you two, but you're going to have to compare notes on storming the castle later." If she let them get too deep into their computer game chatter, she'd never get out of here in time for her dinner. She laid a hand on Katie's shoulder. "You need to clean up those toys all over your bedroom floor before Ben gets here. You don't want him to trip and fall, do you?"

The girl stiffened and her lower lip began to protrude, but Miss Parker knew there would be no tears, just a stubborn refusal to do what she was told.

Broots also recognized the signs. "Better do what your mother says, Katie. It's easier that way. Believe me, I know."

Miss Parker glared at him over her daughter's head.

Broots went on in gently persuasive tone. "Look, I really do want to know how to get to the next level, so I'll call again tomorrow and you can give me some tips then, okay?"

"Promise?" She was using her pathetic little girl voice that Miss Parker hated.

"I promise."

Katie let out a big sigh. "Okay." She slid off the chair and plodded from the room, her slow pace one last act of defiance.

Miss Parker sank into the chair her daughter had just vacated. "Thanks, Broots," she said, this time with genuine warmth. "I know Katie is four going on forty, but sometimes she seems to be stuck in the terrible twos."

"Wait until she's a teenager."

It was the dire warning issued by the parents of most teens, but Miss Parker knew Broots' daughter Debbie was a good kid, proof of how good a father he was. His ex-wife had been largely absent from Debbie's life, but Broots had done a fine job raising his daughter on his own. Miss Parker had always secretly admired his parenting skills. Even though they hadn't worked together for a long time, she felt like she understood Broots better now, as though they were bonded by the daily trials, tribulations, and triumphs of single parenthood.

"So, what's up, Broots? You didn't call just to get video game advice from my daughter, did you?"

He gave a short, nervous laugh then cleared his throat. "Uh, no, I was just wondering if you've heard from Sydney lately."

She had to think for a minute. "No, I haven't talked to him in months. I think the last time he called was back in May to wish Katie a happy birthday." She suddenly realized her relationship with her former colleague – a man she used to see almost every day – had been reduced to short conversations on holidays and special occasions. When she'd chosen to start her new life far from the Centre, she thought that cutting ties with everyone in Blue Cove had been a good idea, but now she couldn't imagine not hearing from Broots on a regular basis. She had to admit she felt slightly offended that Sydney seemed to have so easily accepted her wish for limited contact.

She noticed that Broots' perpetual worry lines on his ever-enlarging forehead had deepened, and she knew his question had not been casual. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake off his worries. "Nothing, it's just that Sydney didn't show up for work today. He went to his fishing cabin on Friday; he's been spending a lot of weekends up there lately."

Ah, the fishing cabin in upstate New York. Miss Parker was sure the only raw fish Sydney had ever seen was sushi, but she had never questioned his forays to his wilderness retreat. If her office had been located in an underground lab, she would have made any excuse to get outside, too. If he spent most of the time at his cabin reading medical journals or brooding by the shore of the lake, who was she to judge?

"Maybe he had car trouble on the way home," she suggested.

"I've tried calling and e-mailing him, but I've gotten no response."

"His cell phone battery might be dead."

Broots looked like the thought of anyone forgetting to charge their cell phone was completely foreign to him.

"Or perhaps," she went on slowly, struck by a radical notion, "Sydney decided to take a three-day weekend. You said he's been spending a lot of time up there. Maybe it's fish in the _sea_ and not the lake that he's after."

She didn't think her pathetic joke warranted the completely baffled expression on Broots' face. "Could Sydney have met someone?" she clarified.

Now he looked dumbfounded at the idea that his co-worker, the distinguished psychiatrist, could be playing hooky because he was having a fling with some mystery woman. Miss Parker knew the idea was hard to grasp, but she'd learned long ago that Dr. Sydney Green could surprise you. Underneath that mild-mannered, absent-minded professor persona was a completely different person.

"No, I don't think so. I mean, he had a new experiment all ready to start today," Broots said. "There were several sets of twins waiting for him down in the sim lab this morning. Sydney wouldn't miss that."

No, he wouldn't. Trying to ignore the tingle of unease she felt, she said briskly, "I'm sure he's fine, Broots. Try not to worry." She knew that was like asking him to give up breathing, but she refused to be drawn into one of his fits of paranoia. She'd suffered through enough of those while she worked at the Centre to last a lifetime.

Never mind that Broots usually had had good reason to be constantly looking over his shoulder. She doubted that anything had changed in the years since she'd left; in fact, the fortress-like think tank had probably become an even more dangerous place in that time given who was currently running the place.

No, she was free from all that now and intended to stay far away from the plots and intrigue of the Centre. She imagined she could feel Broots' anxiety reaching out through the computer screen and started to feel annoyed that she'd have to start the evening in an unpleasant frame of mind.

"I'm sure you're right. Sydney probably had a flat tire or something and couldn't call Triple A because he forgot to charge his cell phone which meant he had to change the tire himself or flag down a passing motorist for help. Or maybe he came down with the flu and has a high fever and completely forgot about the experiment he had scheduled for today. Or perhaps…" Broots finally seemed to realize he was babbling, a habit of his he knew she could barely tolerate. He took a deep breath in a visible attempt to calm down. "Anyway, I'll let you go. You're obviously getting ready to go out, right? Um…"

"It's a business dinner." Why did she feel the need to tell him that? It wasn't any of _his_ business, even if it was a date.

"Oh! Okay, then. Good. I mean -"

"Good night, Broots," she said firmly and disconnected. Before she left the room, she made sure to completely shut down the computer, knowing that it was never a good idea to leave an open conduit to the internet for Katie to find.

She'd just returned to her dressing table when the doorbell rang. Grabbing her purse, Miss Parker hurried downstairs, checking her watch as she crossed the hardwood foyer. Ben was right on time, as always. She opened the door. Seeing her friend's kind face instantly chased away the leftover uneasiness from her conversation with Broots.

"You look nice," he greeted her.

She felt an irrational flash of irritation. "It's not like I spend all of time in t-shirts and jeans, you know."

A bemused expression crossed his face. "Heaven forbid," he murmured.

She instantly regretted her response to what had, after all, been a compliment. "Sorry. It's just that even though I work from home, I do have to look presentable when I'm conducting interviews over Skype. Tonight I happen to have a face-to-face meeting in a nice restaurant, so I owe it to my company to look my best. The candidate seems to have all the qualifications for the job, so I want to make a good first impression." Realizing that she was rambling, Miss Parker stopped abruptly. "Anyway, thanks for babysitting. I hope Katie doesn't bore you with her video games all night."

Ben stepped inside, holding up a canvas tote bag as he did so. "Ah, I came prepared. It's such a nice night, I thought we could roast marshmallows over the fire pit out back."

"Good idea. But don't let her talk you into going out to the water." She knew the rocky shoreline was too treacherous for a man with arthritic knees, but also knew he'd never admit that to Katie "And I just hope the sugar rush and adrenaline from the ghost stories she'll insist you tell don't make bedtime too impossible for you later."

His eyes twinkled as he shook the bag. "That's why there's another surprise in here – just in case a certain little girl needs some added incentive to go to bed without a fuss."

Miss Parker sighed as she closed the door. "You spoil her, Ben."

"What can I say? I have a soft spot for Parker women."

"Grandpa Ben!" The whirlwind that was her daughter came flying down the stairs. Ben barely had time to safely deposit the bag on the small mahogany table in the foyer before the girl caught him around his middle in a fierce hug.

_Just as all of the Parker women have a soft spot for you_, Miss Parker thought fondly, watching as her dear friend deposited a gentle kiss on the top of Katie's head. Coming here to Maine to be close to Ben Miller was probably the best decision she'd made during that terrible time five years ago. He'd been a calming presence in her life, just as he'd been for her mother over thirty years ago. If the fates had been kinder, he might have been her real father, but she was just glad he'd accepted the role as surrogate parent and grandfather.

Katie released her "grandpa." "Wait until you see my new game," she said.

Miss Parker had a feeling Ben was in for a long night. She grabbed her daughter for a quick goodbye hug before the child could dash out of the room. "Now you be a good girl for Ben, okay? I probably won't be back until late, so I'll see you tomorrow morning. "

Katie nodded and squirmed out of her grasp. She skipped towards the family room, calling back for Ben to follow her.

"Be right there, Katie!" Ben picked up his bag of goodies.

"Thanks again for watching her tonight," Miss Parker said.

"No problem. I'm always available for babysitting, so if you ever want to go out for something _other_ than a business meeting, just give me a call." He smiled serenely in the face of her sudden annoyance and sauntered in the direction Katie had gone, leaving her silently fuming in the foyer,

_You put on a little black dress and everyone thinks you're going out for a night on the town. _Why was everyone so anxious for her to start dating? They all knew her history. Her one serious relationship had ended up with the guy faking his own death, getting her pregnant, then getting himself brainwashed into an evil version of his former self. She didn't need a shrink like Sydney to tell her she was perfectly justified in taking a prolonged break from the dating scene.

Before she went out the door, she ducked into the powder room for one final peek in the mirror. No fussing with her appearance was needed; she looked just fine for a business dinner. But she did apply an extra layer of her favorite red lipstick and saw the confident Miss Parker smile in approval.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"I can't quit now, this can't be right

I can't take one more sleepless night

without you, without you"

from David Guetta's _Without You_

* * *

Jarod was a Pretender, a genius with the rare ability to become anyone he wanted to be.

Except in his dreams. There he was just like everyone else, at the mercy of his subconscious. Having Pretended to be a psychiatrist on more than one occasion, Jarod was familiar with several dream theories, how they were believed to be the manifestations of a person's deepest fears and desires, how negative emotions, especially anxiety, were the most common feelings experienced by the dreamer.

Jarod could attest to that. Plagued by nightmares most of his life, he'd studied the practice of lucid dreaming, when a person could exert a degree of control over the imaginary experiences in the dream environment. This technique could be helpful in reducing the frequency of nightmares. Unfortunately, this was one skill that Jarod, despite his abilities, had been unable to master. His own theory was that because he kept his true feelings in check so much of the time during his waking hours, his mind made him deal with his repressed emotions while he slept, making him relive all those terrible years as the scared little boy who'd been stolen from his parents and raised by a ruthless think tank determined to exploit his genius. Many of the bizarre and painful simulations he'd been forced to perform as a child were played over and over in his dreams, made worse because he now knew the results of his labors - the damage he'd unwittingly caused to countless innocents. An overwhelming sense of guilt and regret permeated every one of his nightmares.

Tonight was no different. As always, he awoke abruptly, trembling and drenched in sweat, the details of the dream already frustratingly – and thankfully – just out of reach.

What was different was that he was not alone in the dark. _She_ was there, gathering him into her arms, murmuring soft words of comfort that he couldn't quite make out as he struggled to come fully awake. But it didn't matter. He clung to her, burying his face in her neck, as the last remnants of the dream vanished.

Even his nightmares were no match for the power of a mother's love.

He offered the same apology he always did: "I'm sorry if I woke you, Mom." Hearing the rasp in his voice, he wondered how loudly he'd screamed tonight.

He started to pull out of her embrace, but she reached out to smooth the damp hair off his forehead. He was grateful for the continued contact, the feel of her fingers on his clammy skin; anything to prove to him that _this_ was not a dream, that she truly was here with him in the real world. It had been almost a year since they'd found each other, but he still had trouble believing that they were finally together.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Jarod, that I don't mind?" his mother chided gently. "I was never there to comfort you when you were a scared and lonely little boy, so I'm thankful that I can be here now." She smiled faintly, letting her hand drop down to take hold of one of his and give it a reassuring squeeze. "Besides, I don't need much sleep. Ever since you and your brother were taken and your father and I had to spend most of the time on the run, I learned to get by on only a few hours a night."

Jarod's chest tightened as he tried to tamp down the spark of old anger he felt flare within him. The Centre hadn't just ruined his life; it had also destroyed the lives of his whole family.

"I didn't wake Emily, did I?" he asked.

"No, she was still asleep when I left our room. Your sister didn't inherit our insomnia, thank goodness; I think she could sleep through a bomb going off right next to her."

It was a common expression but Jarod cringed inside as he recognized the likelihood of an actual bomb going off near him or his loved ones. But his mother's observation about Emily was accurate. Literally born into a family of fugitives, his sister had spent her whole life on the run. But instead of growing up to be fearful of everyone and everything, his sister seemed to be a capable young woman, accepting of her crazy lifestyle, perhaps even welcoming the challenge of it.

The Skype ringtone sounded on his computer. As Jarod got up to answer it, his mother silently retreated from the room. Only a trusted few knew how to contact him, but she'd learned it was safer to keep out of sight.

Jarod quickly pulled on a tee shirt to go with his sweatpants, ran a hand through his wavy hair, and hoped he looked halfway presentable. He checked the incoming call. "Kim?" He couldn't keep the surprise from his voice as he opened the connection.

"Hey, Delaware." His old friend still used the nickname she'd given him when they'd first met several years ago. "Sorry if I woke you, but I don't know what time it is where you are."

If that was her polite way of trying to pinpoint his location, it wasn't going to work. He even kept his laptop angled on the dresser so that the webcam faced the interior of the room; all anyone would see in the background was the bare wall over his bed. Still, he didn't fault Kim for trying; in fact, he admired her skillful way of obtaining information. Of course, it didn't take much skill to observe that he had probably just woken up; he knew he always looked like hell after a nightmare.

Kim looked like she was dressed for work. Her red hair was pulled back from her pale elfin face in a utilitarian pony tail, and she was wearing her usual black tank top, which he remembered was her unofficial bounty hunter uniform - great for keeping cool and moving quickly while tracking fugitives through the desert.

"No, that's fine, I was awake," Jarod replied truthfully.

"Well, I knew you'd want to hear this right away."

His heart skipped a beat. "You found her."

Kim's hazel eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "It wasn't easy. You were right; she obviously doesn't want to be found. Good thing you had those hunches on a name and location. She goes by Parker Merriam and she's living in a small town on the coast of Maine."

That made sense, given her mother's past connection to that part of the country… more specifically to the man who lived there.

Kim looked down, as if consulting some notes. "She works from home as a headhunter for a big firm that handles security for various companies."

Jarod thought the security angle fit but… working from home? The Miss Parker he'd known may have complained about the Centre putting her back in the field to chase him all over the country after he'd escaped, but he never could picture her being happy working behind a desk. And now she was content to earn a living without even leaving her house? It didn't make sense.

Kim was tapping some keys. "I'm e-mailing you her address and a photo I took of her at the local gas station." She looked up again. "Sorry I couldn't get closer for a better shot, but I didn't want to look too conspicuous. The folks in those small New England communities tend to notice strangers, and she's too far off the beaten path for me to play the tourist."

"I'm sure it's fine," Jarod said. He felt suddenly anxious to see that picture.

But Kim wasn't done with her report. He waited while she appeared to study her notes some more, gnawing thoughtfully at what little lipstick remained on her sun-chapped lips. "There's something else," she said finally, glancing up again. "When I found this Parker woman, at first I thought I had the wrong person. She has a kid, a daughter named Katie."

_Named after her mother _went through Jarod's mind before shock crowded out all capacity for further rational thought. Miss Parker had a daughter?

His mouth dry, Jarod managed, "How – how old is…?"

"The girl's about four years old. As far as I can tell, it's just Parker and her daughter. I could try to access a copy of the birth certificate if you want, but I doubt the baby daddy's name is on there anyway. Looks like your Miss Parker dropped off the grid back when she was pregnant, so maybe the father was the reason for her disappearance." Kim paused. "You have any ideas about that?"

Jarod slipped on the mask he'd worn for so many years when he didn't want his true emotions to show, and his voice had that old distant tone to it when he replied, "Thanks for getting me this information, Kim. You're a good friend."

She nodded, accepting his evasion, but he could sense her disappointment. "Anything for you, Delaware. Good luck." She closed the link.

Jarod stared a moment longer at the plain blue computer screen – no personal photos or pre-set pulsating patterns on his desktop – before clicking open his e-mail and downloading the photo attachment.

As Kim had said, it wasn't a very clear picture, a bit pixelated from the attempt to zoom in on a subject that was too far away. It looked like Miss Parker was about to get into her car, and he could only see her from the shoulders up. She wore sunglasses and her hair was shorter than he remembered – missing those extra inches that used to curl up and give her a bouncy look that he'd always thought was at odds with her personality. Her hair was straighter now, sleeker, and more professional. It suited her.

No, he didn't need a high-resolution to know that this was definitely the woman he'd last seen five years ago. Which wasn't exactly true. All he had to do was close his eyes and he could picture every feature of her face: the delicate brows that arched so expressively, the long eyelashes that cast filigree shadows on her cheeks when she slept, the surprising dents of her dimples that she so rarely showed…

And the pain in her big blue eyes when he'd rejected her the last time they'd spoken all those years ago. _That_ was the image that haunted his dreams more and more these days: the look of stunned defeat on her face when she'd realized he'd become the Centre's willing operative once again. With Kim's help, he finally had the chance to see her again so he could explain what had happened and who he was now.

And maybe Miss Parker had a few things she needed to tell him, too.

"Jarod?"

Startled, he instinctively slammed shut his laptop and spun around to find his mother stopping short just inside the room.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to intrude." She turned to go.

He heard the slight quaver in her voice and cursed inwardly. "No, Mom, stay," he said quickly. He noticed she'd put her robe on over her pale blue nightgown, so she'd obviously decided to stay up, probably to make sure he was okay after his bad dream. That just made him feel guiltier about his reaction. "Please," he added.

She stayed in the doorway. "Was that call bad news?" Her brow furrowed with concern.

"No. Well, it was news I've been waiting for. I'm just not sure what to do with it." Jarod suddenly felt awkward. He was used to making decisions on his own, even difficult ones. Growing up, he'd only had Sydney to turn to, and his old mentor's answers could never be totally trusted, as his loyalties were so often divided between his duty to the Centre and his compassion for the boy he'd been assigned to raise.

He was still getting used to the idea that now he had someone in his life he could come to in times like this. "I could use some advice," he admitted.

His mother looked surprised by the request but pleased. "Of course, sweetie." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "How can I help?"

It felt right to sit beside her. "That was Kim, my friend who's a bounty hunter. Did I tell you about her?"

"Actually, I think your father mentioned her. He said you met her when you were looking for Mike Bodie, right?"

She said it so casually, as if it had come up during conversation at the dinner table. As if she and his father weren't forced to live apart, constantly on the run, with only a few stolen moments now and then to contact each other. Jarod was forever grateful that he'd finally managed to reunite with his mother and sister, but he still wondered if they'd ever be all together again as a complete family.

"Yes, Kim was an unexpected obstacle in my quest to find more clues of Dad's past." Jarod smiled slightly, remembering how he'd had to be at his best to outmaneuver the resourceful bounty hunter when she wanted to capture the man who could tell him about his father. "But she's great at her job, which is why I contacted her a few weeks ago and asked her to find Miss Parker for me. She disappeared from Blue Cove about five years ago, right after I started working for the Centre again."

"After you were brainwashed," his mother reminded him firmly.

He wasn't going to get into an argument about how much responsibility he bore for his actions in recent years. He gave a slight nod as if in acquiescence but said, "That doesn't change the fact that the last time I saw Miss Parker I didn't treat her too well. I – I don't like the way we left things between us."

"Did Kim find her?"

"Yes."

His mother was silent for a long moment, staring down at her lap, nervously playing with the ends of her robe sash. Jarod realized she was having a hard time deciding what to say. He knew she hated the Centre and everyone involved with it. Even though he'd told her how Miss Parker had helped him to escape, she wasn't going to be a big fan of the woman who'd spent years trying to hunt down her son.

Jarod wondered if this was how teenage boys felt when asking their parents for permission to date the girl they felt was no good for him. Then he wondered if kids even bothered to ask such things these days.

His mother sighed and looked up at him. "So what are you waiting for?" she asked.

Relieved that he had her blessing, Jarod still felt the need to play devil's advocate. "It's not that simple. I can't just show up on her doorstep after all this time. Even if I can convince her I'm no longer under the Centre's control, I don't think she'll be exactly thrilled to see me."

"Well, you won't know until you try."

Now it was his turn to look down, rubbing the toes of his bare feet against the faded blue carpet in a repetitive pattern as he tried to work through his dilemma. "But she finally got free of the Centre. She has a whole new life. What right do I have to disrupt that?"

"Jarod." His mother touched his face, made him look at her. "I know your nightmares are about more than things you've done that you regret. They're about things you've left undone, left unsaid. I suspect that Miss Parker figures prominently in a lot of your dreams, am I right?"

He just nodded, not able to trust his voice right then.

"Then you can't miss this chance. For your own peace of mind, you need to go see her."

"I don't want to leave you and Emily." He grasped her hands and never wanted to let go. "I just found you."

She smiled, though her eyes were bright with the sheen of unshed tears. "We'll be fine," she said briskly, giving his hands a quick reassuring squeeze before releasing him. "But you have go. Now, as soon as you can get a flight."

"You're leaving?" Emily stood in the doorway, her short dark brown hair tousled from sleep, one shoulder bare under the oversized tee shirt she wore to bed. "Is there trouble?"

Jarod stood quickly, but his mother was faster, going to her daughter's side and putting her arm around her. "No, no, everything's fine," she said.

"Then why is Jarod leaving?"

He hated the fear he saw in his little sister's big brown eyes. "I have some unfinished business," he said casually, "and Mom thought it would be best if I took care of it right away."

He could tell she wasn't pleased by his vague response and suspected she'd get the truth of where he was going out of their mother the minute he left. But at least she seemed calmer.

"You'll be safe here while I'm gone," he went on, feeling the need to reassure her.

She pasted a bright smile on her face. "Don't worry, brother, I'll take care of dear old Mum."

Jarod told himself that she'd picked up the British accent because she'd lived in England for six months; she wasn't exhibiting Pretender traits. _That_ was something he wouldn't even contemplate.

Their mother laughed. "Why don't you help me make some breakfast for Jarod while he packs? They never feed you on airplanes anymore."

She steered Emily out of the room, smoothly pulling the nightshirt up to cover her daughter's shoulder as she did so.

Jarod went to the closet and retrieved the bag he always had ready to go. As he made a quick check of the contents, he could hear his mother and sister in the kitchen, the soft murmur of their voices a soothing background to which he'd become accustomed, the sounds of life that meant he wasn't alone in this world anymore.

Yet here he was, preparing to hit the road again and leave his family behind.

No, this time it was different. He wasn't running away. He was running towards something, towards _someone_.

_She has a kid, a daughter named Katie…_

Maybe he wasn't leaving his family behind, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_**Author's Note: When I was writing WHAT PRICE FREEDOM, many of the songs I heard on the radio seemed to reflect what my Pretender characters were feeling. So I decided to start each chapter in this sequel with a quote from a song - popular or obscure - as a comment on the action of the upcoming scene or just a description of that character's state of mind. **_

"You can get addicted to a certain kinda sadness

Like resignation to the end, always the end"

from Gotye's _Somebody That I Used to Know_

* * *

Not even the sight of Broots' name on her cell phone's caller ID display could spoil Miss Parker's good mood.

She'd had a surprisingly satisfying evening. She'd enjoyed an excellent meal in a fine restaurant just inland enough and pricey enough to keep away the casual summer tourist in search of an authentic Maine lobster dinner. The setting may have been a bit unorthodox for a job interview, but Miss Parker felt it made a nice change from talking to applicants over the phone or computer. She knew most modern workers embraced the convenience that e-mail, texting or video conferences offered, but she still felt more comfortable with face-to-face conversations.

Tonight especially. After reading Sean's online application, Miss Parker knew he was a promising candidate for the security position open with her company. The follow-up chat she'd had with him over Skype reinforced her opinion. Since he lived only about an hour away, it made sense to grant him an in-person interview. After spending two hours with him, she knew she'd recommend him for the job; he came across as a strong, intelligent, confident man who had the potential to be a great employee.

And the potential to be something more… to her. After she caught herself wondering just how broad his shoulders were under his suitcoat and yearning for another glimpse of the roguish grin he'd flashed at something she'd said, she knew she wanted to see more of this man – and not in a business capacity. The job he was seeking was at her company's main office in Maine, so he wouldn't be too far away.

She'd been happily anticipating future meetings with Sean – of the non-business variety – when her phone rang, so she answered in a much more pleasant manner than usual. "Hello, Broots."

There was a brief pause while he no doubt wondered if he had the right number. "Um," he finally said, "I'm not interrupting your dinner… meeting, am I?"

"No, I'm on my way home. How can I help you?"

Even she couldn't believe how cheerful she sounded. If one night out with an attractive man made her feel this mellow, it really had been too long since she'd done anything fun. It was definitely time to to change that.

Still sounding like he thought he'd stumbled into an alternate reality, Broots said slowly, "I wanted to tell you that I – I know where Sydney is." He stopped.

Miss Parker had never been a fan of the dramatic pause. "Where, Broots?" she prompted, some of the familiar acidity returning to her tone.

"In a hospital in upstate New York."

She was glad she was on speakerphone, because she had to clutch the wheel tightly to stay on the road. "Is it his heart?" she asked, feeling a tightness in her own chest.

She'd always thought Sydney kept his feelings bottled up too much of the time – an occupational hazard of being a shrink and having to remain on an even keel for your patients. Of course, she'd never had a problem expressing her frustrations on a regular basis when she'd worked at the Centre and still had developed a bleeding ulcer that almost killed her. Venting wasn't enough when you worked in a high-stress environment like that, and Sydney was still in that pressure cooker every day.

"No, he was found unconscious in an alley where a lot of homeless people camp out. The police think he may have been there since yesterday before anyone noticed."

"What?" She almost grabbed the phone and asked him to repeat that to see if she'd heard correctly. Sydney didn't go around wearing Armani suits, but what she considered his professorial attire certainly set him apart from your average street person. How could he have lain unnoticed in an alley for that long? "What happened? Was he mugged?"

"Well, he didn't have any cash on him and his watch was missing, but he still had his wallet. That's how the police knew to call me. Apparently, Sydney has me listed as his emergency contact." He paused. "Um, why would he do that?"

"You're his friend, Broots. He trusts you." Although she couldn't understand how Sydney could have picked their-panic prone pal to be his go-to guy in a crisis.

From the uncomfortable silence on Broots' end of the line, she knew he was wondering the exact same thing. He finally came out with, "Well, that's…um, gosh, that's..."

Time to take charge. "What's Sydney's condition?" she asked sharply. "He's going to be alright, isn't he?"

"I don't know. I found out that he hasn't regained consciousness yet and that he's in stable but serious condition, but that's all the hospital would tell me because I'm not a family member." Another worried pause. "Do you think I should contact his son?"

It had been in large part because of the Centre that Sydney hadn't even known he had a son until the boy was all grown up, and Miss Parker knew he wanted to keep Nicholas as far away from anything to do with the shady think tank as possible. "I'd hold off on that for now, Broots," she said, as she felt the first stirrings of suspicion that this was not a random attack. "Do you know why Sydney was in New York? Could he have been there on Centre business?"

"I, um, I don't know. I mean, he never mentioned any project he was doing up there, but you know how many secrets there are in this place. Who knows what he was working on?"

"Well, we need to know, so see what you can find out."

"Okay."

Miss Parker knew he'd dive into the Centre's computer files and also tap into his human network of oddball co-workers to find the answers. She noticed that Broots seemed calmer now that they'd fallen back into their old familiar rhythm of her asking questions and giving orders. She had to admit that it was helping to keep her nerves in check, too.

"Is the Centre aware of Sydney's status?" she asked.

"I don't think so. When he didn't show up for work today, I told security he had the flu to cover for him; they weren't happy having to deal with all those twins who showed up for the study only to have no one there to administer the tests. I didn't want Sydney to get in trouble." He paused then added worriedly, "But what about the police? They asked if I knew why Sydney was in New York, and I said he was probably spending the weekend at his fishing cabin, which is what I thought anyway. I- I didn't mention the Centre – you know how they hate dealing the authorities – but what if the cops call his place of work as part of their investigation?"

"If the police think it was just a simple mugging, I doubt they'll pursue it."

"But you don't think it was a simple mugging, do you?"

"All I know is we need to keep the Centre in the dark about this as long as we can," Miss Parker said firmly. "I don't know the extent of Sydney's injuries, but the last thing he needs are a couple of Sweepers standing vigil outside his hospital room when he wakes up."

"Well, I'm in the middle of an upgrade of the Centre's main network here, so if I ask for time off now, they'll get suspicious. Miss Parker, Sydney shouldn't be alone. D-do you think you could go to the hospital?"

"I'm not family either, Broots, so they may not let me see him."

Another silence, this one a bit reproachful. For someone who had trouble getting his point across through all his stammering, Broots' frequent pauses seemed to speak volumes. Or maybe she was just projecting. They both knew that she would never let anyone stop her from doing anything, so if she really wanted to go see Sydney…

It would be such a hassle: making sure Ben could stay with Katie, booking a flight, rearranging her schedule, making some of her work calls from New York…

And all of those things were just excuses. She owed it to Sydney to go down there and be with him in his time of need. He'd been there for her – he and Broots both – when she was in the hospital after her ulcer surgery and after being drugged - and almost worse - by her brother.

Miss Parker stifled a sigh. "Alright, send me directions to the hospital, and I'll fly down there tomorrow. Maybe Sydney will be awake by then and I can find out what the hell is going on."

"I'm e-mailing you the details right now." The relief evident in his voice, Broots made a hasty goodbye and hung up quickly.

Before she could change her mind, Miss Parker reflected sourly. She'd just agreed to take the lead in this sticky situation, leaving him to handle the logistical support behind the scenes. Those were the roles they'd always played in their years working together at the Centre, a familiar scenario that Broots probably found comforting.

Whereas she felt slightly queasy at the thought of stepping back into the world she'd been only too happy to leave five years ago.

Miss Parker realized her fingers were going numb from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. She loosened her grasp and wished she could let go of these new suspicions that easily. So it turned out that Broots had been right to be worried about Sydney. Still, she could be overreacting in assuming that the attack on him was anything more than a random mugging. She blamed Broots for that. Talking to him could cause anyone to have an anxiety attack. When she'd worked with him every day, she'd become somewhat immune to his nervous vibes, but now she was out of practice.

She eased her foot off the gas pedal as she turned onto the narrow winding lane that led to her house. The mile-long stretch through the woods usually made her feel secure, like she was safely hidden away from her enemies. But tonight, in her present frame of mind, the dark evergreen trees hugging the meandering road seemed sinister, like they were hiding the very threats she struggled to avoid.

She was glad when she finally pulled up to the house. After parking in the detached garage, she crossed the gravel drive quickly, eager to get inside. Still, she let herself into the foyer quietly, certain she'd find Ben on the couch dozing over a book. When she saw the living room was empty, she headed upstairs, wondering if her daughter had conned him into reading her too many bedtime stories until the poor man fell asleep right along with the girl. The door to Katie's room was ajar, and she pushed it open the rest of the way, slowly, so as not to suddenly awaken the occupants within.

But there was no one in the bedroom. She switched on the light and saw that the bed was still made from this morning, her daughter's pajamas in their neatly folded pile on the dresser where she'd placed them earlier that day.

Miss Parker frowned. They couldn't still be out by the campfire, could they?

Annoyed now, she went back downstairs, crossed the living room in a few determined strides, and slid open the glass patio door. "Hey, you two, it's way past someone's bedtime," she called into the darkness.

No answering giggle or tearful protest from Katie. No chagrined apology from Ben. There was no response at all.

A dim glow came from the dying embers of the fire pit, and she thought she could make out a figure lying at the edge of the deck. The sudden chill she felt had nothing to do with the cool night air.

Miss Parker reached back inside to switch on the spotlights. "Ben!" she gasped when the spill of lights clearly showed the man lying motionless on his side. Even as she rushed over to him, a jumble of questions about his condition going through her mind – had he fallen…did he have a heart attack…or a stroke – she was acutely aware that Katie was nowhere in sight. The usually-soothing sound of the waves on the rocky shore, mere yards from the house, suddenly seemed loud and ominous.

Ben was groaning by the time she knelt beside him, and she felt a quick pang of relief. "Ben, are you okay? What happened? Where's Katie?" she asked urgently.

He looked dazed, reaching with trembling fingers to touch his forehead, and wincing as he did so. "Someone hit me," he mumbled.

The dread returned full force. She suddenly noticed the bloody gash on the side of his head and quickly retrieved the handkerchief he always kept in his shirt pocket. Pressing it to the wound, she repeated, "Ben, _where's Katie_?"

"I- I don't know," he said slowly, his eyes widening in alarm. He struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back down.

"Don't move," she ordered. "You could have a concussion."

Ben nodded slightly and obeyed.

Miss Parker pushed the handkerchief into his hand and stood up, trying to fight down panic as her thoughts flew apart. Ben needed an ambulance…but her phone was inside…she had to find her daughter first…Katie knew how to call 9-1-1…someone _hit _Ben? _Where was her daughter_? Her wild gaze swept the area.

Then she saw it. The forks they used for roasting marshmallows were laying on the round glass-topped table on the deck, and a piece of paper was skewered on one of the metal tines. She stepped to the table and snatched it off the spike. The big block letters seemed to shout at her: NO POLICE, MISS PARKER.

No one around here knew that she used to go by that name. Which meant…

It felt like all of the air left her body as the realization hit her with sickening force.

The Centre had her little girl.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"When you fall like a statue

I'm gon' be there to catch you

Put you on your feet, you on your feet"

from Phillip Phillips' _Gone, Gone, Gone_

Safely hidden among the pine trees, Jarod took a moment to plan his final approach.

He'd worked as a real estate agent once (to expose a shady broker who'd conned an old woman into selling her family farm to a greedy developer), so he was well aware of the "location, location, location" mantra. The popular New England saltbox-style house before him boasted two of the most popular features homebuyers wanted: it sat on a piece of ocean-front land and offered gorgeous views of the water. He could imagine highlight sheets about this property had also made mention of the several large picture windows, skylights, deck, and balcony, hoping to lure someone who wanted to enjoy the natural setting to the fullest.

Miss Parker had never struck him as a nature-lover, but he could see how this location and this house would appeal to her. All those windows would let her see trouble coming a mile away, whether it be from land, sea, or air. A lone swimmer could drop anchor far out and make it undetected to the beach, but none of the tumbled rocks on the shore were large enough to provide adequate cover once he was on land. There was no large area where a helicopter could set down. And the long, winding country lane leading to the house made it impossible for a convoy of Centre-issue vehicles to sneak up on her.

Forewarned by Kim about that narrow no-outlet way in, Jarod had left his rental car parked at an abandoned gas station out on the main road and traveled the rest of the way on foot, moving steadily but cautiously through the woods, careful to give the few houses he encountered a wide berth. He intended his visit to be a complete surprise.

He needed it to be.

He and Miss Parker had known each other most of their lives. They'd been friends, enemies, lovers … but now? All he knew was that he couldn't just stroll up to her front door and knock. She probably still believed he was under the Centre's control; she wouldn't exactly welcome him with open arms.

Enough skulking around in the bushes, Jarod decided. He hadn't come all this way after all these years just to stare at her house and worry about what her reaction would be when she saw him. Whatever it was, he could handle it.

Still, he couldn't make himself just nonchalantly walk across the small back yard. He did a half-crouching jog from the woods to the deck, lightly springing up onto the redwood slats. A faint whiff of smoke drew his attention before he reached the sliding glass door, and he turned back to take a closer look at the portable fire pit situated on a semi-circular area of gravel just beyond the deck. He squatted near the edge and noted the fresh pile of ash within the charred metal container. Someone must have enjoyed a campfire last night.

Jarod smiled slightly as he recalled his first campfire experience many years ago … and the beautiful Argentinian woman with whom he'd shared it.

Pain exploded on the back of his neck and he barely managed to keep himself from tumbling forward into the fire pit. Down on all fours, he cast a woozy glance back and up at his assailant and saw the high heels, the long legs clad in skinny black jeans … and the gun used to cold cock him now aimed squarely at his head.

"Jarod?" Miss Parker gasped.

Now that she could see he wasn't an intruder, Jarod figured it was safe to get up. He started to rise but she tightened her double-handed grip on her weapon and snarled, "Don't move!"

Well, he hadn't expected a warm welcome, but…

"Of course, they sent _you_."

"No one sent me," he said quickly. "I'm no longer under the Centre's control. If you'll just let me explain –"

"Hands behind your head," she interrupted harshly. "Now!"

He obeyed, wondering why she was reacting in such an extreme manner. As he laced his fingers behind his head, he swayed slightly. He was still unsteady from the blow she'd given him, and he hoped a strong breeze wouldn't topple him over the edge of the deck. "Please, Miss Parker…"

"What the hell kind of game is the Centre playing sending you here? Did they think that would make me more cooperative?" Her eyes were a fierce blue rivaling the cloudless sky behind her. "You make one wrong move, Jarod, and I swear I'll put a bullet right through your shoulder. Even wounded, you'll still make a great bargaining chip."

Now he was really confused. Even when she'd been hunting him and trying to return him to the Centre years ago, she'd rarely threatened to shoot him. Something was very wrong.

Miss Parker's cell phone rang. Never taking her eyes off him, she kept the gun steady in her right hand while she used her left to retrieve the phone from her back jeans pocket and lift it to her ear. She offered her usual terse greeting. "What?"

After listening for only a few seconds, she said, "I don't have time for your babbling right now, Broots. I'm a little busy. I've just caught the Centre's Golden Boy and I have a prisoner exchange to set up."

Prisoner exchange? Who did she want to free?

"I don't care if it was one of Syd's crazy patients who attacked him… what? Slow down, Broots, you're not making any sense." She frowned, and her eyes shifted a fraction to the right, but Jarod didn't seize the opportunity to go for her gun; he was too caught up in trying to decipher what was going on from just her side of the conversation.

"No, you and I both know that's not possible!" Her gaze returned to him, but he could tell her focus was elsewhere. There was an undercurrent of fear in her voice. "Proof, what proof?" She listened for a long moment and when she spoke again, she sounded like she was having trouble forming the words. "But if that's true… that means that he could be the one who…" All of the color drained from her face.

As her knees buckled, Jarod lunged forward to catch her, but his awkward position and still-throbbing head slowed his reflexes. Miss Parker fell, striking her head against the edge of the patio table as she did so.

Jarod knelt beside her. She'd landed half on her back and was unconscious and bleeding from a cut on her forehead. He snatched up the phone she'd dropped. "Broots, what's going on?" he demanded.

"J-Jarod, is that r-really you? W-where's M-Miss Parker?"

"She fainted and hit her head when she fell." Jarod tenderly brushed the hair away from her face to more closely examine the laceration. "But I think it's just a surface wound. What the hell did you say to her?" Almost as an afterthought, he picked up her gun, which had landed under the table and tucked it into the back waistband of his jeans.

"W-will she be okay?"

Jarod took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm so that Broots wouldn't feed off his anxiety and become completely incoherent. "I'll take care of her, Broots. Which would be easier if I knew why she just threatened to shoot me and hand me over to the Centre."

"W-well, the last time we saw you, you _were_ working for the Centre, so she probably thinks you had something to do with the kidnapping."

"Kidnapping? What are you talking about?" Jarod asked sharply.

"Her d-daughter. K-Katie was taken last night."

"What?" Jarod pressed the phone tightly against his ear. "Broots, listen to me," he said urgently. "I had nothing to do with that. You have to believe me!"

"I do believe you."

The straightforward response surprised him. "You do?"

"Because I think I know who _did_ do it. That's why I called." He paused, and even his silence sounded miserable. "I think Lyle took her daughter."

"Lyle is dead," Jarod said slowly, with a sickening sense of déjà vu. "You were there, Broots, when Miss Parker shot him five years ago. You saw him die."

"I know, but right now I'm looking at security footage from the Gage Institute which shows a very much-alive Lyle talking to Sydney two days ago!"

It felt like an icy fist closed around his heart, and he could only stare down at Miss Parker, perversely thankful that she had knocked herself out and gotten a brief reprieve from her nightmarish reality. Now he knew why she'd looked like she'd seen a ghost before she'd collapsed. Her evil twin brother had just returned from the dead… _again._

* * *

For the first few seconds after waking up, Miss Parker believed it was a day like any other. Then she quickly realized she was not in her own bed but was instead lying on the futon in the spare bedroom she used as her office.

Recent events came back in a rush: Katie was gone, Jarod was back, Lyle was _alive_.

Remembering all that had the same effect as being doused with a bucket of ice water. She sat up quickly – too quickly – and grunted as she felt a stabbing pain above her right eye.

"Careful, you have a nasty bruise from your fall."

_Jarod?_

She stared at the man sitting at her computer and wondered if she was hallucinating. Just how bad _was_ her head injury?

She gingerly felt around the sore spot on her forehead and discovered a small square bandage had been applied. Definitely something Jarod would do; so he really was here. She leaned back and closed her eyes. "What happened?" she asked weakly.

"You hit your head on the patio table when you passed out."

"When I…" Now she remembered. Broots had told her Lyle was still alive and that he had proof of that incredible fact. The horror of what that meant – that her sick freak of a brother was probably the one who'd taken Katie – had overwhelmed her. She'd felt flushed, heard a roaring in her ears, and then everything had gone black.

"You should drink something."

Miss Parker opened her eyes and noticed the bottle of water on the leather ottoman in front of the futon. Being careful to move slowly, she leaned forward and picked up the bottle. As she opened it and took a sip, Jarod went on, "I know you probably have a terrible headache, but it would be best if you avoid aspirin or ibuprofen for the time being. I don't think you have a concussion, but it would still be a good idea to keep any blood thinners out of your system."

"Whatever you say, doctor." She heard her slightly mocking tone and instantly regretted it. She should be grateful that Jarod could _be_ a doctor – or anything else – when the need arose. At least he'd assessed and treated her injury on the spot instead of insisting she go to the hospital. That's the last place she wanted to go, especially after spending most of the night there with Ben to have _his_ head wound checked out. The E.R. doc had ordered a CT scan, which thankfully came back negative, but Miss Parker had spent a few miserable hours waiting with nothing to do but worry about what was happening to Katie. Ben's repeated apologies had done nothing but irritate her and then make her feel guilty for becoming angry with him. He hadn't even wanted to go to the hospital in case that would put Katie in more danger, but she wasn't going to let him risk his health. To keep the authorities from getting involved, they'd had no trouble concocting a story that Ben had hurt himself falling off a step ladder while changing a light bulb.

After she'd finally gotten Ben settled at home this morning, promising to call him as soon as she had any news on Katie, she'd come back here and spent the next few hours second-guessing her decision to keep the police out of this situation. Warning the victim's family to steer clear of the cops was a common demand of kidnappers, but it was also the Centre's modus operandi. Having worked most of her adult life for that shady think tank, Miss Parker had developed a habit of avoiding the authorities, but right now she felt like she would welcome help from any and all sources if it meant bringing her daughter home safely.

She drank some more water and felt the fog in her brain start to clear.

Which meant the man in black – his usual tee shirt and jeans – was not a mirage projected by her sleep-deprived brain. He really was here, right in the same room with her, calmly working on her computer.

Wait, he was on her computer? "Hey, how did you get on there? That's password-protected…" She trailed off as she remembered she was talking to a genius.

"Broots told me how to get into your e-mail."

Right assumption, wrong genius. Of course, her techie friend had figured out her password. She supposed it served her right for not changing it often like he was always telling her to do.

"He said he was going to send you the security footage from the Gage Institute," Jarod added, clicking the mouse a few times then frowning at the monitor.

She was up and moving towards the computer. She tried to remember exactly what Broots had said on the phone. "Is that the hospital where Lyle has supposedly been a patient all these years?"

Jarod was staring intently at the screen. "Well, according to this, he was there two days ago."

Miss Parker leaned forward to see the image better and had to grab the back of the chair to steady herself. It wasn't just the after-effects of her fall that had her feeling suddenly off balance.

Jarod quickly stood so she could take a seat. She would have normally rebuffed such chivalry, but right now she was too intent on what was on her computer to care. She sank into the chair and watched in disbelief the video playing in front of her.

Gone was the slick businessman persona, but even in need of a haircut and a better wardrobe – he was wearing a plain white tee shirt and gray sweatpants – the man on the screen was easily recognizable as her brother Lyle.

The man who liked to torture and murder. The man she thought she'd killed – twice. The man who probably had just kidnapped her daughter.

Now faced with the proof Broots had mentioned earlier on the phone, Miss Parker again felt a sickening flush that made her thankful she was sitting down this time with the bottle of water still in her hand. She quickly took a reviving sip of the cool liquid. The room's only window was open, but it faced the front of the house, and the air coming through the screen was not as refreshing as the sea breeze that regularly blew in from the back.

After a few more swallows and a couple of deep breaths, she could focus on the recording again and pay attention to other details. She noticed that Lyle was sitting on an ornate wrought iron bench along a paved path, a well-manicured expanse of green grass behind him with several mature shade trees on the far edge of the lawn.

As she watched, another man joined him on the bench. It was Sydney.

She sensed Jarod stiffen behind her and knew he was as shocked as she was. No doubt he felt the betrayal more keenly, since Sydney had been like a father to him. Why would a man who claimed to care for them both be sitting and having what appeared to be a pleasant conversation with their sworn enemy?

Jarod abruptly stepped away, crossing to the other side of the room, as if he needed to distance himself from the ugly truth that had just been revealed. Miss Parker couldn't tear her gaze away from the horrible scene and was relieved when the clip suddenly came to an end and the screen went black except for an arrow prompting her to play the video again. She had no intention of doing that.

"Broots told me that Sydney is in the hospital."

She detected no sympathy in his voice, but she knew that even after this disturbing revelation, he still felt a bond with the man who'd raised him at the Centre.

Right now all she felt was anger towards Sydney, but she redirected it at the true villain. "It's a good bet Lyle's the one who put him there." She paused and had to swallow hard before adding, "And the one who took Katie."

Jarod's tone was softer as he commented, "She's beautiful. Just like her mother."

Miss Parker glanced over at him and saw he was holding a framed photo of Katie she kept on the bookshelf. It was a favorite of hers. It was impossible to get the little girl to pose for pictures – hard enough to get her to even sit still long enough for a clear shot – but she'd managed to snap one at just the right moment. They'd been down on the beach one day a few months ago searching for treasure – unusual sea shells or seagull feathers or any interesting tidbit that had floated in with the tide (Katie was always hoping for an actual message in a bottle) – and the child had looked up, her dark eyes shining with delight at something she'd found, just when Miss Parker had taken the photo.

Caught up in the memory of that precious moment, she murmured, "She has her father's eyes."

Jarod went very still. His back was to her, so she couldn't see his face, for which she was glad. She hadn't intended to tell him like this and had never imagined the desperate circumstances that would accompany this revelation. If he looked at her now, she thought she might lose it.

The silence filled the room, stretching out for what seemed like forever, until she felt it would snap like a high-tension wire pulled too taut for too long.

Finally, Jarod moved. He carefully replaced the photo on the shelf, handling it as gently as if he was lifting Katie herself. Miss Parker felt tears sting the back of her eyes, as she realized what a wonderful father he would have been. Would he ever have the chance now?

"Jarod, I'm sorry, I-" she began.

"No," he said hoarsely, turning to face her. He looked pale but composed. "Let's just concentrate on finding Katie, okay? That's all that matters right now."

She felt immensely grateful for this unexpected reprieve. She couldn't handle a heavy emotional scene right now.

But he wasn't letting her completely off the hook. "Unless you don't trust me. Do you think I'm still working for the Centre?"

He spoke calmly. No hasty attempts to explain his current status like earlier out on the deck. He expected her to answer based on her past experiences with him.

That didn't make it easier to come to a conclusion. Jarod had been her friend, her enemy, her lover, but above all else, he was a Pretender. Even he had admitted on more than one occasion that he didn't know who _he_ was. He'd spent most of his adult life trying to answer that question, and he expected her to make an accurate assessment of his character in an instant?

Miss Parker wanted to believe him. She needed his help to find Katie. Now that he knew she was his daughter, too, surely he'd want to get her back almost as much as she did? But what then? Would he hand the girl over to the Centre? Lyle had a habit of pursuing his own agenda; maybe the Triumverate had sent Jarod here to stop his old nemesis from gaining power within the organization.

All the possible scenarios started to make her head throb with renewed ferocity.

Jarod was waiting for her response. She took a deep breath and met his unwavering gaze. "I trust you'll do everything you can to help me get Katie away from my sick freak of a brother."

She saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes that she hadn't really given him an answer, but she was not ready to fully accept that _her_ Jarod was back. He quickly pushed his feelings aside, however, nodding and saying, "Okay, then. We need to talk to the person we know who last saw Lyle. That would be Sydney," he added grimly.

"Well, I was supposed to visit him today, so Broots sent me the name and location of the New York hospital where he's a patient." She turned back to the computer and was glad to close the video window and open up another e-mail from last night. She hit the print command and went on, "It will take too long to drive down there, but I don't know how soon we can get a flight." She clicked on the search engine and started to type in some particulars.

Jarod stepped to her side. "Just find out where the nearest private airfield is. We'll charter a plane and I'll fly us to New York."

Of course. How could she have forgotten he was a pilot… when he needed to be.

"There's one not far from here," she said. "My company uses it to fly in VIP clients. Let's go." She stood up – too quickly, she realized, as the room started to spin.

Jarod laid a steadying hand on her elbow but she shook him off. "I'm fine," she insisted, focusing on the peaceful painting on the wall behind the futon – a bunch of freshly-picked daisies in a water pitcher on the steps of an old farmhouse porch – until the dizziness passed. She had to be able to keep on her feet or Jarod might second guess his earlier diagnosis and decide she needed a CT scan after all.

He didn't physically try to prop her up but was close enough to do so. He murmured, "When was the last time you ate?"

Last night's prime rib dinner seemed a million years ago, but the mere thought of food made her queasy. "I don't have time-" she started to say.

"I saw a box of peanut butter crackers in the kitchen," he interrupted.

"Yes, I keep them on the counter because Katie likes to get her own afternoon snack. She's so independent..." Her throat tightened. Was her little girl hungry right now?

Jarod was there to offer support again, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. This time she didn't pull away. "We'll get her back," he said softly.

Miss Parker turned to look at him and saw the determination in his dark brown eyes – so like Katie's! She only hoped her daughter was feeling that same resolve right now.

_Hang in there, Katie. Mommy's coming._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Mother isn't here now

Who knows what she'd say?

Nothing's quite so clear now.

Feel you've lost your way?

Witches can be right, Giants can be good.

You decide what's right you decide what's good…"

_from "No One Is Alone" from Into the Woods_

Katie was cranky.

That's what Mommy called her sometimes. She said she got like that when she was tired or hungry. Well, she shouldn't be tired because according to her watch (the Disney princess one that Mommy had given her last year when she was so proud she had already learned to tell time), it was already afternoon. She'd woken up only a little while ago, so she must have slept a long time. So why did she still feel sleepy? Her eyes were heavy, and she had to concentrate to keep them open. Her tummy hurt, too.

So maybe she was hungry. She should be, since she'd slept through breakfast and lunch. But she didn't really feel hungry. She actually felt a little sick and her head hurt. Maybe she was sick. Maybe that's why she couldn't remember falling asleep last night. The last thing she remembered was telling Grandpa Ben a really scary ghost story. Maybe she had a fever like that time when she'd had the flu and had felt yucky for almost a whole week. Maybe Mommy had brought her to the hospital, which might explain why she wasn't in her bedroom.

Katie slowly pushed back the thin blanket covering her and realized she was still wearing the clothes she'd had on yesterday. No ugly hospital gown. She turned her head on the pillow. This didn't look like a hospital room. The walls were sort of white, but there was a rug covering the floor. Hospital floors were hard and shiny. It was also too quiet here; hospitals were full of noises like beeping sounds and voices in the air saying things that didn't make much sense but must be important. It didn't smell like a hospital, either – not that sharp, clean smell that somehow seemed wrong. She knew all this because she'd had to go to the hospital last year to get an x-ray after she'd fallen off the deck and hurt her wrist. It hadn't been broken so she hadn't needed a cast which was a little disappointing because she'd thought it would be cool to have people sign it. Except she only really knew Mommy and Grandpa Ben and Uncle Boots, so it would have looked sort of silly with only three names on it.

Katie sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She wondered if she should try to find someone to let them know she was awake. Even if this wasn't a hospital, there had to be some grown-ups nearby; they wouldn't leave a little girl all by herself in a strange place. Where was Mommy?

She'd just decided to go over to the door to see what was on the other side when it opened and a man stepped into the room. He wasn't wearing a white coat so he wasn't a doctor. He was wearing a suit like the men she sometimes saw talking to Mommy on her computer.

He smiled at her. "Did you have a good nap?"

That made her crankier. Couldn't he see she was too big to take naps? She opened her mouth to tell him that but then remembered the rules and said nothing.

The man didn't seem to notice. He closed the door then crossed to a small table by the room's one window. He set a brown paper bag there. "You must be hungry. I brought you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some apple juice. How's that sound?"

She wasn't sure. Her stomach still felt a little iffy but she _was_ thirsty. Katie looked down at her dangling feet and was comforted by the sight of her favorite purple socks. Faded to lavender by repeated washings, the socks also had holes where her big toes came through. Mommy didn't sew and Katie wouldn't let her buy a new pair. She liked the way these socks felt on her feet and kept wearing them, no matter how many times Mommy tried to hide them at the bottom of her dresser drawer.

"Are you feeling alright?" The man was starting to sound worried.

"Not s'posed to talk to strangers," she mumbled.

"Ah. Then it's a good thing we're not strangers."

Katie lifted her head. "I don't know you," she said, a little louder to make sure he understood what she was saying.

"It's true we've never met, but we're actually family, Katie. I'm your uncle."

She frowned. "You're not Uncle Boots."

The pleasant expression on his face sort of flickered. "Broots is just a friend. I'm your _real_ uncle, your mother's brother. I'm also her twin," he went on hurriedly. "Do you know what that means?"

"Two things that look the same." She stared at him. "You don't look like Mommy," she added accusingly.

"That's because we're not identical. But we were still born at the same time; we're what's called fraternal twins."

She usually liked to learn new things, but right now all these big words were making her head hurt more.

The man – her uncle? - sat down at the table. "Why don't you eat something? You'll feel better." He pulled a sandwich wrapped in shiny plastic and a juice box out of the brown paper bag.

It _was_ time for her afternoon snack, and she did like peanut butter. Katie stood up and slowly crossed the room to take the seat on the other side of the table. "What's your name?" she asked.

"You can call me Uncle Lyle." He seemed pleased.

With well-practiced ease, she ripped the straw off the side of the juice box, stabbed it through its plastic wrapper and then jabbed it into the silver circle on the top of the drink container. But she paused before drinking to ask, "Why haven't I ever seen you?

"I was badly hurt in an accident before you were born. I've been in the hospital for a very long time and just recently got out."

Katie took a careful sip of apple juice. She usually sucked the liquid out fast, because she liked it when the sides of the box caved in then popped out. But she felt that this moment was too serious for childish games like that. She was curious to hear what this man who claimed to be her uncle had to say.

Right now she had another question. "Did Mommy come to visit you?"

"No. Your mother and I have never gotten along very well."

Katie slowly swallowed some more juice. She didn't have a brother, but if she did, she thought she'd certainly visit him if he were in the hospital, no matter what. "Did you have a fight?"

Uncle Lyle nodded. "Several."

"You should say you're sorry. Then you and Mommy can like each other."

He sighed. "It's not that simple, Katie."

She unwrapped her sandwich, noting with pleasure that it was cut into two triangles, while she considered his answer. She wondered if he was being a typical grown-up who didn't want to discuss certain things with a child or if he and Mommy had really had such a bad fight that they couldn't forgive each other.

The jelly was cherry, her favorite, and Katie realized she was hungry, after all. Her uncle watched her in contented silence, probably relieved to see her eat.

As she munched on her sandwich, she took advantage of the silence to study the man across from her. He'd said he didn't look like her mother, and he was right. His hair was a much lighter brown than Mommy's. She thought his eyes were blue but not a pretty shade of blue like Mommy's. She supposed he was handsome, but he didn't look like the heroes she'd seen in movies or video games; he looked more like someone you'd see in a commercial on television, with his fancy suit and perfect-teeth smile. Mommy had good teeth, too, but she also had dimples that showed when she was really happy; Katie didn't think Uncle Lyle had those.

Before she knew it, she'd finished half her sandwich. After washing it down with a bigger swallow of juice (still without making the box cave in), she asked something that had been bothering her. "Are you cold?"

Her uncle seemed surprised by the question. "No, why? Are you? I can turn the air conditioning down if you want."

She was feeling a little chilly, but that wasn't what she was talking about. Katie pointed to what had drawn her attention. "Why are you wearing that?"

He glanced down at the brown leather glove on his left hand. "Oh, this?" He paused, flexing his covered fingers while he seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something. Then he looked up and said, "A long time ago I worked for some very bad men. I did something that made them angry and they punished me." He paused again then added with a quiet intensity, "Do you want to see?"

Katie nodded, feeling suddenly uneasy but also tremendously curious.

Never taking his eyes off her, Lyle slowly pulled the glove off his hand. She saw a wrinkled lump of skin where his thumb should have been.

Horribly fascinated, she breathed, "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore. But it hurt a lot when they first chopped it off."

Katie imagined that it had. In fact, she could imagine exactly what it must have been like… to feel a knife – or maybe an axe – slice right through skin and bone, cutting off the whole thumb. It had probably been a quick, sharp pain and then maybe a terrible ache that went on and on…

She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She clasped her hands together in her lap, trying to soothe away the sudden throbbing in her thumbs. Her heart was pounding and she felt shaky.

"You must have done something really bad," she said in a small voice.

There was no joy in his chuckle. "They thought I did. Does your mother ever punish you?"

"Not like that!" She was horrified by the thought and shook her head to clear away the frightening image of Mommy coming at her with a knife. "I just have to sit in time-out sometimes."

"What's that?"

What kind of grown-up didn't know what time-out was? "We have a chair in the corner of the kitchen where I have to sit and think about what I did. And then I have to say I'm sorry." Explaining this normal method of punishment to her uncle was helping her calm down.

"What if you're not sorry?"

The question surprised her, and she just stared at him.

He went on, "I mean, just because your mother doesn't like something you did, that doesn't always make it wrong, does it? So, if you're not sorry, do you still say you are?"

Katie nodded slowly.

"Why?" He leaned forward, his gaze intense, his eyes a brighter blue than before.

"Cuz that's what I'm s'posed to do." Why was he asking her these strange questions?

"Are you always truly sorry when you say it?"

She had to shake her head.

"So then why do you say it?"

"So Mommy will let me go play with my toys again."

He nodded slightly, seeming satisfied with her answer. He put on his glove again and sat back in his chair.

She was relieved she didn't have to look at his injured hand anymore. But she couldn't relax. Questions she'd been able to ignore until now bubbled to the surface. "Why am I here? Did I do something bad? Where's Mommy?" She hated the way her voice sounded thin and scared, and she blinked rapidly as tears threatened to fall.

Her uncle tried to calm her. "No, no, you weren't bad. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Katie frowned at him. Would this man ever make sense?

"You know you're a very smart little girl, don't you, Katie?"

She shrugged.

"Haven't your teachers told you that?"

"I don't go to school. I'm not old enough."

Now he frowned slightly. "You're four years old, right?"

"Four and a half," she corrected him promptly.

"Lots of kids go to pre-school when they're your age." He paused. "But I know why your mother hasn't started you in school yet. She knows you're too smart to go to a regular school, so she wants to make sure you go to a place that will be right for you. That's why you're here."

"Is this a school?"

"No, this is where we're going to find out what kind of school you should go to. I know a lady who works here; she's a doctor who can help."

"Am I sick?" Maybe this place was a hospital, after all.

"No, my friend is a doctor who deals with the brain. She's going to run some tests to determine just how smart you are."

Katie didn't like the sound of that; doctors and tests usually meant needles.

Her uncle tried to reassure her. "Don't worry, you'll like these tests. They'll be more like games, and I'm sure you'll do very well on them."

So now she knew who this mysterious stranger was and why she was in this strange place. But he still hadn't answered her most important question. "Where's Mommy? Why isn't she here?"

"She was here. She brought you here late last night after her dinner meeting. Don't you remember?"

Katie shook her head, glad her uncle couldn't see her still nervously twisting her hands together in her lap.

"Well, it was a long drive, and you fell asleep in the car."

"But why isn't Mommy here now?" Katie glared at the man across from her.

He didn't seem fazed by her demanding tone. His voice was as calm and pleasant as it had been the whole time they'd been talking as he responded, "She had to go on a business trip."

Now she knew he was lying. "Mommy works at home," she said.

"Yes, but someone else got sick and your mother's company needed her to do their job. She hadn't planned on bringing you here until today, but when she learned she had to go out of town, she brought you last night. She hated to leave before you woke up, but she promised to call you as soon as she can. She's on a very long flight, so she probably won't be able to use her phone until later tonight or even tomorrow, so don't worry if you don't hear from her for a while. She knows you're in good hands with me." He smiled.

All of that sounded like it could be true, but Katie's head still hurt a little and she needed more time to think about everything.

Her uncle glanced at his watch. "Speaking of work, I have a meeting I need to get to. It was a real pleasure meeting you, Katie. I look forward to getting to know you better." He stood up. "Finish your sandwich and take some time to look around your new room. I think you'll like the toys here." He walked over to the door.

Wait, he was leaving? She hurried after him, determined to ask some more questions.

The first one being: why had he just locked her in?

Katie scowled at the door. Now she was definitely cranky.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"what happens now

if the world is upside down

do we fall through the sky

or will we hit the ground"

_from Lee Hester's "Crash"_

"Excuse me, we're looking for a patient." Jarod consulted a small spiral-bound notebook he pulled from the inner pocket of his suitcoat. "A Dr. Sydney Green?"

The nurse behind the desk didn't bother to look away from her computer screen. "Are you family?" she asked in a flat tone.

"No, FBI. Agents Booth and Beckett."

She lifted a startled gaze just in time to see the badge he held up for a quick inspection. "We need to speak to Dr. Green regarding information he may have concerning a kidnapping," Jarod went on, tucking the bogus credentials back in his pocket.

The nurse shook her head. "I'm afraid that won't be possible," she began.

Miss Parker pushed forward, leaning across the counter so she could look down at this woman who was daring to deny them access to Sydney. "This can't wait," she demanded.

"I understand," the nurse replied crisply, "but that patient can't speak to anyone. He's unconscious."

Thrown by this unexpected news, Miss Parker just numbly stepped back when Jarod touched her arm.

"Is there anything else you can tell us about his condition?" he asked.

Appearing somewhat mollified by his conciliatory tone, the nurse responded, "Let me get you the on-call resident. He's making rounds on the floor right now." She heaved herself to her feet, and Miss Parker thought uncharitably that she spent far too much time behind a desk. Still, she moved surprisingly fast for a woman her size as she exited the hub and hurried down the corridor, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the freshly waxed floor.

Rallying, Miss Parker started to lean forward over the counter again, but Jarod tightened his grip on her arm, pulling her back.

She shook him off. "What are we waiting for? Let's just take a peek and see what room Sydney's in."

"I might agree with you, if he was awake and talking. But as it is…" Jarod paused, and she could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, could almost hear his mental gears shifting as he was forced to change his course of action. "We really need to know his medical condition."

"You'll be able to tell that when you see him."

He gave a wry smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but 'Agent Booth' can't exactly waltz into a patient's room and perform a thorough examination. I need his latest test results, and it would just be easier to get that information from the staff here." He added a gentle but pointed reminder, "You agreed we'd do this my way."

Yes, fine, yes, back at the house when she'd felt overwhelmed, she'd agreed to let him take the lead. Still reeling from the events of the last twenty-four hours – and dealing with a slight concussion on top of everything else – she'd been in no shape to formulate a plan of action. So she'd gone along with his idea of impersonating FBI agents, had even changed into her most conservative gray pantsuit so she'd look the part. Despite the terrifying reason for the role play, she'd still thought it might be interesting to take part in one of Jarod's Pretends; other than watching old video footage of him performing simulations at the Centre, she'd never actually witnessed him in action.

But on the flight down here she'd had time to gather her wits. The aviation headsets made any meaningful conversation impossible, so while Jarod skillfully piloted the two-seater Cessna 150 to New York, she'd devised her own strategy for after they got to the hospital. She'd let Jarod do his good guy routine to get them in the door, but once she saw the whites of Sydney's eyes… well, she wouldn't let his condition – whatever it was - stop her from getting the answers she needed. She wasn't squeamish about crimping an oxygen tube or applying pressure to the most sensitive area of a patient's body if it mean getting her what she wanted.

But with Sydney unconscious, Miss Parker knew she'd have to put her plans aside and rely on Jarod's people skills a little while longer. Just not too much longer, she hoped.

She reined in her impatience with difficulty. The incessant beeping coming from various patient rooms – magnified in volume because she was standing near the desk where all the tones sounded – just served to increase her agitation. The pitiful pleas – "Please, I need my pain medication… I have to go to the bathroom… The damn machine is beeping again" – coming from the intercom when the calls were finally answered by a bored-looking nurse on the far side of the hub made her feel even worse. She hated hospitals.

Miss Parker stalked a few paces away from the nurses' station and tried to ignore the pain and misery she could practically feel oozing from every room. She was relieved when she saw a tired-looking young man in a white coat over dark blue scrubs approaching them.

"I'm Dr. Mahmoud," he said. "You were asking about the patient who was admitted yesterday morning? The mugging victim, I believe?"

"Yes," Jarod said. "What can you tell us about his condition?"

The doctor hesitated. "I thought the police had already been here."

"We're with the FBI. Agents Booth and Beckett," Jarod said, flashing his badge again before adding smoothly, "The local authorities contacted us when they learned we were working on a kidnapping case that may be related to this incident."

"Oh?" He stepped over to a mobile computer cart parked by the wall and tapped a few keys on the laptop. "I'm sorry, but your questions will have to wait. That patient has not regained consciousness."

"Yes, the nurse at the desk told us that. Do you expect him to wake up soon? Or was it necessary for you to induce a coma?" Jarod pressed.

Dr. Mahmoud frowned at the computer screen. "No, that wasn't warranted in this case. His vitals are good. Given his age and the fact that he was severely dehydrated when they brought him in, his body might just need longer to heal. Wait, let me check…" He clicked the mouse a few times. "Ah, this could explain it. His bloodwork showed sodium pentathol in his system, a fairly significant amount. That's a very strong sedative."

That's not all it was. Miss Parker's heart sank. If Lyle had injected Sydney with truth serum…

"Sodium pentathol?" Jarod echoed. "That's not your typical street drug."

"No, it isn't," Dr. Mahmoud agreed.

"Can't you do anything to wake him up?" Miss Parker asked urgently, ignoring Jarod's warning glance. "As we said, this patient may know something that could help us find a kidnapped child. Her parents are frantic."

Something like sympathy crossed the resident's weary face. "I understand," he said, "but there's really nothing I can do. I won't risk my patient's health in an attempt to bring him around prematurely. I'm sorry."

Miss Parker opened her mouth to argue further, but Jarod said quickly, "Thank you, doctor. Do you mind if we look in on him before we go?"

"No, that's fine. Excuse me a moment." He turned away as another nurse came up to him asking for orders for pain medication.

"Which room?" Miss Parker interrupted.

She could see the irritation tightening the corners of the doctor's mouth as he glanced back at the computer. "127," he said before returning his attention to the nurse and effectively dismissing them.

Fine with her. She took off down the hall and had located the room and stepped inside before Jarod caught up with her. "Take it easy," he murmured, as he closed the door behind them. "Let's try not to draw too much attention to ourselves."

Glad to see that Sydney was the room's only occupant, she quickly crossed to the bed by the window where he lay. The blinds were closed, and the only light came from the fluorescent strip over the bed. Currently, only the upward-facing bulbs were lit, leaving Sydney in shadow. But she could see the usual hospital paraphernalia hooked up to him: the I.V. line snaking from his left wrist to the bag of clear fluid hanging from a pole, the tiny glowing gadget on his right forefinger that she knew monitored his pulse and oxygen, and the automatic blood pressure cuff around his left upper arm. As she watched, it slowly inflated then released, the hiss of air loud in the quiet room.

But he was breathing on his own - no tubes in his nose or mouth - and other than a small bandage on his forehead, there were no outward signs of trauma. He looked better than she thought he would. Better, in fact, than he usually looked.

Sydney always tried to maintain the serene demeanor of a psychiatrist, but Miss Parker had seen the toll years of working at the Centre had taken on him. The lines on his face and the gray in his thinning hair could not be totally blamed on the natural aging process. Keeping secrets and telling lies – or trying to ferret them out – was not good for one's health. She'd almost died from a bleeding ulcer while working at the Centre, but she'd never felt better than in the five years since she'd left that place. And Sydney, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, looked almost peaceful, now that he was removed from that world of treachery and deception.

Miss Parker had to fight an overwhelming urge to shake him, slap him, scream at him, do whatever it took to bring him back to this world, so he could reveal his latest secret, the one that had brought her innocent daughter into harm's way.

Jarod stepped to the head of the bed and stared down at his former mentor. She wondered if he was struggling with similar impulses, but she doubted it. He'd always had a soft spot for the man who'd raised him, even though that man had also been his captor.

Jarod reached down and pressed a button on the control that was hung from the bed rail. The downward-facing fluorescent lights hummed to life, casting a harsh light on the man in the bed. Jarod studied him closely, felt the pulse at his neck, and then looked at the monitor in the corner.

"So what's the prognosis, doctor?" Miss Parker asked.

"As Dr. Mahmoud said, he appears to be in stable condition. I believe he should wake up on his own."

"But we're not going to wait for that, right?" Irritated by his answering silence, she pressed, "Jarod, we need to know anything Sydney can tell us about Lyle… sooner rather than later. You _can_ wake him up, can't you?"

Still gazing down at the patient, Jarod sighed. "It's not that simple. And it could pose a risk to Sydney."

"You can't seriously be having a moral dilemma about this! I doubt ethics came into play at all while you've been doing God knows what for the Centre the past few years."

His head snapped up, and she saw the flash of anger – or was it pain – in his eyes. "We can discuss that later," he said tightly. "There's nothing more I can do here right now, so I suggest we leave." He gestured for her to go first.

_Don't trust me to be alone with Sydney, do you, Jarod?_ she thought as she stalked out of the room.

Jarod paused outside the door. "I'm going to give them my number so they call me and not the local police if Sydney's condition changes," he said before heading towards the nurses' station.

She watched him hand over his card at the desk – why did it not surprise her that he had actual Agent Booth business cards – before turning and striding back towards her. She noticed the appreciative glances he got from a couple of nurses standing by the counter as he walked away. She imagined word had gotten out about the handsome FBI agent who'd shown up on the floor. She had to agree that this was one of Jarod's better Pretends – very aesthetically pleasing.

Then she felt a pang of guilt at thinking such thoughts at a time like this. Her daughter was missing, presumably kidnapped by a psychopath, and she was admiring the way Jarod wore a suit? What the hell was the matter with her?

When he'd almost reached her, Miss Parker turned and headed quickly for the exit, afraid the flush on her face would reveal her inappropriate thoughts.

Once they'd left the ground floor unit, Jarod passed her and led the way across the lobby and out through the hospital's main doors. She was surprised when he didn't head directly to the parking lot but turned right and went around the corner of the building. She was even more surprised by what lay around the corner. A narrow walkway lined by lush rosebushes led to a small courtyard with a central fountain, an Adirondack bench on each side of the square. More roses of every color, some seeming to glow from within where they were touched by slanting rays of the setting sun, created a low fragrant hedge around the perimeter of the flagstone patio. Miss Parker noticed a plaque off to one side that read MYRTLE BERRY MEMORIAL MEDITATION GARDEN.

If Jarod thought some time in this oasis would calm her nerves, he was sorely mistaken. With silent apologies to Mrs. Taft's memory (and she did have her sympathy for a woman with a name like that), Miss Parker refused to do any meditating in this garden tonight. She was relieved to see no one in the vicinity; she didn't want her mood to shatter the peace that the loved ones of patients may be seeking in this admittedly beautiful refuge.

She lengthened her stride to get ahead of Jarod before he reached the fountain then rounded on him and demanded, "Okay, Jarod, care to explain what you meant in there? You can't wake Sydney up or you _won't_?"

"Of course, I'll do my best to revive him. I'm certain Sydney would be willing to take any risk if it means helping to find your daughter."

_He'd damn well better be willing to take the risk since he was the one who put Katie in danger in the first place by keeping the secret about Lyle being alive!_

But Miss Parker didn't say that out loud. She'd expected an argument from Jarod, but now that he wasn't giving her one, she decided she'd adopt a more agreeable tone.

"Good, what do we need to do first?" she said briskly.

"Well, I got a quick peek at the computer when Dr. Mahmoud was busy with the nurse, so I saw what program the hospital uses to store patient information; that should make it easier to access. But I also need the results from Sydney's most recent physical to get a base line."

"Broots can help with that. I'm sure he'll have no problem hacking into the Centre infirmary's records."

"Then I have to gather several different drugs so I can prepare the right mixture."

"So, break into the hospital supply room and get what you need."

Jarod shook his head. "No, they've seen me here now."

Heaven forbid he actually wear a disguise like a fake beard or mustache or even a pair of glasses; she'd never understood how he pulled off so many Pretends over the years without altering his appearance. "Put your Agent Booth badge back in your pocket," she said, "and pull out your doctor or janitor I.D."

"It's too risky," he insisted. "I still have to sneak back into Sydney's room to administer the medicine. I'll need to pose as medical personnel when I do that." He paused. "But it's okay, I have my own supplier."

She raised an eyebrow. "What, did you run a drug ring?" She didn't remember that Pretend.

Jarod looked slightly uncomfortable when he replied, "I recently went undercover with a Mexican drug cartel. I was trying to figure out how to stem the flow of illegal substances into the U.S."

"Or how to divert those substances to the Centre?"

He looked away. "I'm not sure," he admitted in a low voice.

Even though she was curious, now was not the time to discuss that questionable assignment, one of many she was sure he'd performed for the Centre in recent years. She needed him to focus on the present task – getting Sydney awake so they could question him about her not so dearly and not so departed brother – and not waste energy on wallowing in guilt about the things he'd done when his moral compass was on the fritz.

"So how long will it take to make the medication to bring Sydney around?" she asked.

Jarod stepped closer to the fountain and seemed to study the water as if seeking answers in its cascading patterns. "It's not a simple process. I don't know for certain that it can be done."

She had to strain to hear him over the sound of the water. He was speaking quietly, probably reluctant to even voice the possibility of failure.

"You brought Sydney's brother out of a coma," she reminded him firmly.

"That was a totally different situation."

"But he and Sydney were twins. Doesn't the fact that they share DNA make it easier for you to formulate something to revive Sydney?"

Jarod sighed. "The science is fairly complicated. The first thing I have to do is –"

She held up her hands, palms out, to fend off any technical explanation. "Never mind. I know you'll figure it out. And while you're doing your mad scientist thing, I'm going to find my own drug supplier – that is, the person who gave Lyle the sodium pentathol he used on Sydney. It has to be someone at the Gage Institute who's helping him, so I'm going to head out there and –"

Her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and checked the display. Hoping for some good news, she answered with more eagerness than usual: "Yes, Broots?"

But he was the one seeking information. "What did Sydney have to say?"

A very direct question without his usual hemming and hawing, so she owed him a similar response. She gave him one, even if she knew it wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Nothing. He's in a coma."

"A coma? I didn't think he was that seriously injured."

"Apparently Lyle gave him an overdose of sodium pentathol. Jarod's going to whip up something that will counteract it and hopefully bring Sydney out of it soon."

There was a short silence on the other end of the line. "How is Jarod?" Broots asked hesitantly. "Is he – I mean, you know – is he acting like himself?"

Miss Parker studied the man who was still staring at the fountain, apparently lost in thought – perhaps running scientific equations through his mind? "So far," she said. "I trust him to do whatever he can to help me get Katie back."

Jarod's head lifted and his eyes met hers.

"Does he know that – well, that Katie's his – you know, his…"

"Yes, Broots, I told Jarod that Katie is his daughter."

Jarod's gaze intensified. The emotions she'd felt at that pivotal moment earlier in the day threatened to overwhelm her again. She turned away. "Listen, Broots, I need you to do something for me. There's no telling when Sydney's going to wake up, and we can't wait. He must have notes on his sessions with Lyle. You can hack into his files, right?"

"Well, sure, but you know Sydney's old school. He wouldn't keep patient notes on his computer."

"Then break into his office and go through his filing cabinet," she said impatiently. "And see what you can find out about the Gage Institute. I want to know if it has any connection to the Centre. Check if it's ever been in trouble, everything from malpractice claims to citations for improper use of bed pans. And while you're at it, get a list of the staff there and see if anyone has a criminal background."

"I-I'll do what I can."

Miss Parker paced back and forth in front of one of the benches. "I'm going out to the Institute myself to see if I can find someone there who might have helped Lyle plan the kidnapping. While I'm doing that, I need you to check on my brother's old allies at the Centre. There's at least one person still there who was definitely on his side."

She could clearly hear his nervous gulp. "Oh, Miss Parker, wouldn't you be a better person to talk to –"

She cut him off. "I'm going to be busy at the Institute. You're there, Broots. Come on, you can do this. I really need your help."

His resigned sigh was music to her ears. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "I'd better go. I have a lot to do. Call me if… well, if anything happens."

"Fine," she agreed shortly and ended the call with a decisive jab of her fingernail.

"You don't think you piled too much on Broots, do you?" Jarod commented.

"He's used to it," Miss Parker said shortly. "At least, he used to be used to it," she amended, realizing it had been a long time since she'd given him orders when they'd worked together at the Centre. "Helps keep his anxiety at bay."

Keeping busy sounded like a good idea. "Well, the sooner I get to the Institute the better," she said, turning to go and noticing that the path was now illuminated by low lanterns casting intricate patterns of light onto the paving stones.

Jarod put a hand on her arm, which she promptly shook off. "You can't go out there tonight," he persisted. "It makes more sense to go tomorrow when the day shift is there – the nurses and staff who interacted the most with Lyle. You can also talk to the hospital administrator then."

His reasonable tone irritated her, but he was making sense. Still, the thought of doing nothing while her baby girl was in the hands of that monster…

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Jarod asked.

"You mean when I was in the E.R. for hours waiting for the results of Ben's CAT scan? Or when I was driving him home before dawn?" He'd looked so distraught when she left him, overcome with worry – and guilt, despite her repeated assurances that it wasn't his fault Katie had been taken.

"Damn it," she muttered, as she remembered the last thing she'd said to him.

"What?"

"I promised Ben I'd call him with an update. He must be frantic by now." She stared helplessly at the phone she still held and sank down on the bench. "What am I supposed to tell him? That I still don't have any idea where Katie is, but I'm pretty sure my psychotic brother, who's back from the dead for the third – or is it the fourth – time, is the one who kidnapped her?" She glared at Jarod. "Explaining your return won't be any easier. How does this sound? The man who got me pregnant then lost his mind and became a willing operative of the Centre, doing God only knows how many rotten things for the past five years, has now come back claiming he's all better and ready to help me find the daughter he never knew he had." She winced as her headache returned with a vengeance.

Jarod sat beside her in the gathering darkness. "You'll feel better after you get some sleep," he said quietly.

"Where is my little girl sleeping tonight? Where did she sleep last night? Or was she unconscious from whatever drug Lyle probably gave her?"

Jarod leaned towards her. "You need to rest."

"No, I need to find my daughter!" Miss Parker stood up quickly – and sat down again just as fast as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Suddenly, the smell of the roses all around them seemed overpowering, and she felt flushed.

"You're not going to be any help to Katie if you collapse from exhaustion." His voice was calm, but she could sense his underlying concern. "Look, it's out of the question to fly back to Maine tonight. It would be better to stay here close to Sydney and the Gage Institute anyway. So, why don't we find a hotel or…" He paused. "The farm isn't too far from here."

Still woozy, it took her a minute to figure out what he meant. Images of cows and pigs flashed through her mind before she realized that he was talking about the property he owned. The farmhouse with the barn where his parents had hidden all those years ago after he'd been kidnapped by the Centre. The place where he'd connected with them as an adult – even if only through his vivid imagination. The place where _they'd _connected in a very real way – and conceived Katie.

She tried to sound casual when she asked, "You still have that place?"

"You know how much it means to me." His voice was husky. "There are a lot of memories there."

She closed her eyes, trying to relieve her headache but also so she wouldn't have to see the look in Jarod's eyes. He _said_ he was no longer under the control of the Centre, but she still had no way of knowing for certain if that was true. If she let herself be swept up in memories of their time together at the farmhouse…

"If you'd rather go to a hotel…"

She opened her eyes. "No, your place is a good idea," she said. "It's quiet there and you'll have room to spread out while you're concocting the miracle drug that's going to revive Sydney."

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a slightly rueful smile. "Good to know you have faith in me."

"I've never doubted your abilities, Jarod," she said firmly, hoping to bolster his confidence. What she didn't need to add was that she'd often had a problem with _how _those abilities were used. They both knew his genius had been exploited too many times, a fact that had caused him great pain when he'd first realized some of the despicable things the Centre had done with what he'd thought up in countless simulations. She didn't know what deplorable actions he'd taken in the last five years while he was "willingly" working for the Triumverate, but she knew that was a conversation they had to have someday.

But not now. Bringing Katie safely home was all she cared about, and she wasn't above exploiting his unique abilities to help her do just that.

"Well, then I guess we'd better get going," he said. "I have a lot of work to do." He stood and held out his hand.

After only a second's hesitation, Miss Parker took it and let him help her up. She still felt a bit unsteady, so she didn't object when he kept hold of her hand to guide her along the shadowy path that led out of the garden. As they left the meditation courtyard together, she had to admit she felt more at ease with the man by her side than she would have thought possible only a short while ago.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"And the walls kept tumbling down

In the city that we love

Great clouds roll over the hills

Bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes,

Does it almost feel like

Nothing changed at all?

And if you close your eyes,

Does it almost feel like

You've been here before?"

_-from Bastille's "Pompeii"_

Growing up at the Centre Jarod had been raised on a strict diet of essential vitamins and minerals to develop a healthy mind and body. Taste had not been factored into the equation. He hadn't escaped from the ruthless think tank until he'd been an adult, but he still embraced every new culinary discovery with childlike delight. He'd learned how delicious some of the most ordinary food items were, like ice cream and spam. But not coffee. He'd never developed a taste for that.

Jarod took another sip of the hot beverage and grimaced. It may not be his drink of choice, but right now he needed the caffeine. After staring at a computer screen for a couple of hours, scrolling through row after row of test results, all he wanted to do was put his head down on the kitchen table and take a nap. He raised bleary eyes to focus on the clock on the wall across the room. It was past midnight. Given the time difference between here and London that meant he'd been awake for over twenty-four hours. Still, he'd remained alert for much longer periods during past simulations and even a few live Pretends when he'd been on the run. Plus, his mind should be reeling with the revelations of the past day, making it impossible for him to sleep. Miss Parker, who should have been dead on her feet, was still full of nervous energy when he'd almost had to shove her up the stairs to bed a few hours ago. Her anxiety was understandable since they still were no closer to finding her daughter.

_Their_ daughter.

When would he be able to think of Katie as his child? Shouldn't he be as frantic as Miss Parker, knowing his daughter was in danger? How could he even think of going to sleep at a time like this?

He forced down another swallow of coffee and returned his attention to his laptop. He needed to develop a drug to bring Sydney out of his coma as soon as possible.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you'd be… I don't want to disturb you…"

The sight of Miss Parker wearing only an old black tee shirt of his provided more stimulation than he could get from ten cups of coffee.

She hesitated in the doorway of the kitchen. "I hope you don't mind," she said, with a quick self-conscious glance down at her outfit. "I found this shirt in one of the dresser drawers, and since I wasn't in exactly the right frame of mind earlier to think to pack something for overnight…"

"No, that's fine." Jarod cleared his throat. "Did you get any sleep?"

She came the rest of the way into the room. Anyone else would be shuffling or stumbling at this hour, but she moved with her usual grace. Jarod tried not to stare at her long bare legs. "About an hour, I think," she replied slowly, her back to him as she stood at the counter, "before I…woke up."

"Bad dream?" He could imagine what terrors her slumber might have held. He _could_ imagine it, but his mind veered away from doing so.

"No, I actually slept soundly." She sounded surprised by that fact. She paused a beat then added quietly, "But waking up was hell. I felt sick when I realized this wasn't all one hideous nightmare." She bowed her head over the sink as if she'd physically be ill at any second, her hands tightly gripping the edges of the formica counter.

All inappropriate urges vanished, but he had to resist the impulse to go over and take her in his arms. Miss Parker had never been one to admit weakness and he knew she would rebuff any attempt of his to comfort her.

"I need a drink," she muttered.

He deliberately misunderstood. "I think I have some chamomile tea," he offered. "That should soothe your stomach and help you to relax." He was thankful he didn't have any liquor in the house – alcohol was another adult beverage he'd never learned to like – because that was the last thing she needed.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Never mind. I know better than to drink during a crisis. I learned that lesson a long time ago."

He knew she was referring to the crisis he'd created when he'd faked his death five years ago. She'd turned to alcohol to help her cope with the grief, which had made her vulnerable to Lyle. Then she'd overcompensated for her momentary weakness by pulling a gun on her own brother… and pulling the trigger. Jarod would never forgive himself for the role he'd played in making that happen.

She straightened and turned to face him. Her weariness was evident in every line and shadow on her face, but her voice was strong when she said, "I need to keep a clear head to find Katie."

He refrained from suggesting again that she try to get some rest. He couldn't force her to go to sleep. She was running on pure adrenaline, trying to cope with the horrible uncertainty of her child's fate. Any mother would feel the same way.

_Or any father._ Again, he found himself wondering why he didn't feel the same dread that held Miss Parker in its unrelenting grip. What was wrong with him? Was he still suffering from the effects of the Triumverate mind control? Had he become incapable of experiencing emotion?

He must have let some of his distress show on his face, because Miss Parker asked sharply, "What's wrong? Is there a problem with the drug for Sydney?"

"No, I'm making progress," he hastened to reassure her. "Broots already e-mailed me the results of Sydney's last physical. Plus he hacked into Sydney's medical records at the hospital and forwarded me his latest test results. I've already started going through the numbers and should have a formula worked out soon. In the morning I'll pick up the drug components I need and get to work on mixing up a protocol."

Miss Parker nodded. "Good. And I'll head over to the Gage Institute."

"Broots also sent me a link to the Institute's website." Jarod brought it up on his computer screen. "Looks like a pretty fancy place."

She was at his side in an instant, peering over his shoulder. "Amenities?" she read. "Is this a hospital or a spa?" She reached out and tapped the down arrow key to scroll through the list of conveniences offered.

Her arm was brushing against his shoulder. Her hair, a shining golden-brown curtain, fell in front of his face and smelled faintly of shampoo from the quick shower she'd taken upon arriving here at the farmhouse a few hours ago. He was suddenly reminded of the shower they'd enjoyed together five years ago - on "the morning after" as she'd called it.

_Damn._ He was more tired than he thought if he couldn't keep his mind from drifting into areas he decidedly did not want it to go right now.

"Let me get you that tea," he said, standing up and snatching his coffee mug off the table before he crossed quickly to the counter.

Still intent on what was displayed on his laptop, she didn't seem to notice his abrupt withdrawal. She took his seat at the kitchen table and continued to study the institution's website.

As he filled the blue tea kettle with water, Jarod heard her say, "I notice there are no prices on here, but a place like this has to cost a lot. So who's been paying for Lyle's stay? And who's financing him now?"

Jarod put the water on to heat. "Well, what happened to Lyle's money when he… died?"

"He didn't have a will as far as I know. My father and I weren't exactly on speaking terms after I… after what happened, so he never mentioned anything to me about putting my brother's affairs in order."

Jarod started to rummage in one of the overhead cupboards. "He might have had a lot of his money – especially any illegally obtained funds - stashed in a Swiss bank or some off-shore accounts."

"You're probably right. I'll have Broots look into that."

"About that…"

"Don't worry, Broots can get some help from his lady friend in accounting at the Centre."

Jarod wished he had time to delve into the subject of Broots having a "lady friend," but he had something he needed to tell Miss Parker – something she wasn't going to like. He set the box of tea on the counter and turned around to face her.

She was still engrossed with whatever was on his computer screen, tapping keys and clicking on the built-in mouse. He hoped she was still on the Institute's website. At least all of his private files were password-protected. The window with Sydney's latest test results was still open, but if she wanted to study his WBC, RBC, Creatinine, BUN, TSH, Lymphocils, Eosophils, and so on, that was fine with him; it might just help her fall asleep.

"I agree that Broots could use some help." He paused and took a deep breath. "Which is why I spoke to a friend of mine. She's not the computer whiz Broots is, but she knows her way around the internet and is great at tracking people down who don't want to be found."

Miss Parker's fingers stilled on the keyboard. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his. "You brought a _stranger_ in on this?"

Her voice matched the coldness of her gaze. "She's a friend of mine. Her name is Kim and she's a bounty hunter. She's good at what she does, Parker. She's the one who found you for me, so she already knows about Katie." When he'd called her earlier, Kim had been happy to learn her hunch about the little girl had been right – then shocked when he'd filled her in on his daughter's current situation. She'd offered her assistance right away, and he'd been unable to turn her down.

"It makes sense to have someone from outside the Centre working with us on this," Jarod went on in his calmest, most persuasive tone. "She can do a lot of the leg work. Broots can't be absent from work too much or it will be noticed. And Lyle won't be expecting us to bring in outside help."

"True." She sounded thoughtful and Jarod wondered why she wasn't giving him more of an argument. But her next words showed she was thinking about something else entirely. "You hired someone to find me. Why?"

Jarod didn't know what to say, even though he'd prepared for that very question during the flight over the Atlantic Ocean. But even he, the master of possible scenarios, had not anticipated _this_ situation. He couldn't reveal his true feelings now, not while she was grappling with the current crisis. That conversation would have to wait until this was all over. Once she was reunited with her daughter…

He wouldn't even contemplate anything other than a happy ending.

The tea kettle whistled. Grateful for the reprieve, Jarod quickly turned back to the stove and busied himself preparing their drinks. But he could feel Miss Parker's eyes on him while she waited in silence, and he knew she wasn't letting him off the hook. He slowly poured the hot water into the mugs and then took his time stirring extra sugar into his coffee.

The tone sounded on his laptop that indicated the delivery of a new e-mail. Alarmed that she might see something she shouldn't, Jarod spun around, but Miss Parker had already opened the message. "It's from Broots," she said, and he felt his heart rate return to normal.

She frowned at the screen. "Seems our tech genius can't hack into the patient records at the Gage Institute. But he did confirm that Lyle – under the name of Bobby Bowman – huh, the name his adoptive parents gave him – was admitted to the Institute five years ago. The admitting doctor was Sydney Green." Her scowl deepened. "He should have left him to rot in some state-run hospital." She paused. "I thought he was rotting in his grave." She ran a hand through her hair. "Damn it, Jarod, what the hell happened?"

He carried their steaming drinks to the table, taking the seat across from her. "We'll know more once we can talk to Sydney."

"Will we? You really think we can trust what he says?"

He wasn't sure if she expected an answer, but he realized he wasn't sure how to respond.

"Because I'll tell you what I do know, Jarod," she went on. "I know that five years ago I walked into that Centre parking garage and put a bullet in my brother at point-blank range, and I walked out thinking he was dead because Sydney told me that he was." Her fierce gaze wavered. "Things got a little fuzzy after that, but I do know that you showed up at my house later, conveniently back from the dead yourself."

Now her bitterness was aimed at him. He said nothing in defense of that drastic choice he'd made back then; he'd learned to live with the guilt of what his actions had put into motion.

"Do you realize how crazy this conversation sounds? Talking about people coming back from the dead as if it's the norm?" Her sudden trill of humorless laughter had a slight edge of hysteria to it. "The sad thing is that this is my life. No, this _was_ my life. I escaped from all that insanity to keep my child safe."

_Our child._

The thought came unbidden to his mind, which he thought was a sort of progress. Maybe he was starting to think like a father, after all.

"And look how well that worked out," Miss Parker added miserably. "Only three people knew about Katie – Ben, Broots, and Sydney. And Sydney put her in danger."

Jarod felt he could solidly defend his former mentor this time. "I'm sure he never meant for this to happen."

"He knew that Lyle was a threat, and yet he still chose to lie to me for all of these years. Why would he betray me like that?"

Only Sydney could answer that, but Jarod put forth his best guess. "Perhaps he was trying to protect you."

"Protect _me_? Lyle's the one he's been hiding!"

"Yes, to keep you from taking drastic action again."

"Well, gee, Jarod, if Sydney was so concerned about my emotional well-being, don't you think he should have clued me in on the fact that I actually hadn't killed my own brother?"

She spoke flippantly, but Jarod knew how much she'd been tormented by what she'd done. They'd had that discussion in this very kitchen five years ago, when he'd finally gotten her to open up about her conflicting feelings. He could understand the anger and confusion she was experiencing now; why had Sydney, who'd seemed so concerned about Miss Parker's fragile state back then, chosen to let her believe she'd murdered her twin?

They could stay up the rest of the night trying to figure out Sydney's motives, but that would do nothing to solve the present problem. Time to plan strategy. To help get his neurons firing, he took as big a swallow of coffee as he could stand and ventured, "I think we should forget about why Sydney did what he did. For now," Jarod added hastily as he saw the flash of blue fire in Miss Parker's eyes. "We need to concentrate on getting the answers that will lead us to Katie."

"I intend to get some of those answers from the Gage Institute in the morning," she said, her eyes still smoldering with determination.

"It won't be easy," Jarod cautioned. "That's the kind of place that guards its patients' privacy even more zealously than other hospitals. As you said, even Broots hasn't been able to hack into Lyle's records."

"They'll talk to me," she said grimly. "I'm family."

"Doctor-patient confidentiality still applies, which means you're not going to get anything out of the psychiatrist who treated Lyle during the week or any other time when Sydney couldn't be there."

"Then I'll concentrate on the staff. Someone at the Institute had to have helped Lyle, and I'm going to find out exactly who that person is."

"Lyle will have warned his accomplice to expect you."

She jabbed a long painted fingernail at him. "If you think for one minute I'm going to let someone else – like your bounty hunter friend – go out there in my place –"

"No, no, you should go," Jarod quickly reassured her. "Since that's what he expects, it might be good to let him think everything is going according to plan." Lyle was bad enough when he was cold and calculating, but he knew a desperate Lyle was even more dangerous. "And you may be able to pinpoint who helped him by seeing who is reluctant to talk to you." He paused. "_If_ you approach them right. They have to _want_ to answer your questions."

"Well, the Institute obviously caters to a wealthy clientele," Miss Parker said, "so I'll just play the rich bitch. I should have no problem doing that." She arched a perfectly sculpted brow at him.

Jarod knew better than to respond to that comment. Instead, he pointed out, "But you also need to convince them that you _care_ about your brother."

He figured the face she made was in response to his statement _and _from the sip of tea she'd just taken. "Don't worry," she said shortly. "I'll find a way to get the answers I need, if I have to talk to everyone in that place from the head honcho all the way down to the cleaning lady." She returned her attention to the computer. "I think I'll check the Institute's website again, see if the administrator's profile is on there. I should know as much as I can before I go there tomorrow."

_Today, actually,_ Jarod thought wearily. He reached out and gently closed the lid of his laptop. When Miss Parker sent him an angry glance, he said firmly, "That can wait until morning – when the sun's up. You'll retain the information better if you get some sleep first."

She'd opened her mouth to protest but closed it now and stared at him in silence for a minute. Her expression remained neutral, but he knew the internal struggle going on as her heart no doubt was demanding she ignore the needs of her exhausted body. The wall clock seemed very loud as it ticked away the seconds. "Alright," she said finally, quietly. She reluctantly took one more swallow of tea before pushing herself to her feet and walking away.

Jarod stared tiredly at his laptop and wondered if he had the energy to even open it up again.

"Jarod?"

He turned. Miss Parker had paused in the doorway, striking what could only be described as a provocative pose. "Care to join me?" she asked huskily. "Remember, we always slept best in each other's arms."

"What?" He blinked and the enticing vision vanished, replaced by the sight of a very real, very tired Miss Parker leaning heavily against the doorjamb as if she needed it to hold her up.

She still had enough energy to send an irritated look his way. "I _said_ you need to follow your own advice and get some rest, too. You look like hell."

After making that blunt – but unfortunately accurate, Jarod knew – observation, Miss Parker exited the kitchen, leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the coffee he'd forced himself to drink.

If he was so tired he was seeing things, he was definitely in no shape to make complex computations. With a sigh, he rose and took their mugs over to the sink where he dumped the contents down the drain. Even though it had done nothing to curb his exhaustion, all that caffeine in his system would probably give him more vivid dreams than usual.

Although, he wouldn't mind if those dreams were anything like the hallucination he'd just experienced.


End file.
